


Heart and Soul

by CatKing_Catkin



Series: Traveling Hearts [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Blood Magic, Character Death, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Crying, Decapitation, Dissociation, Doppelganger, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Fights, Fire, Fluff and Smut, Friendship/Love, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hanging, Horror, Hugs, Hurt Caleb Widogast, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Jester Lavorre & Caleb Widogast Friendship, Kidnapping, M/M, Making Out, Memory Loss, Mental Breakdown, Mind Control, Minor Beauregard/Yasha (Critical Role), Mollymauk Tealeaf Lives, Mollymauk Tealeaf's Backstory, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Kissing, Not Canon Compliant, Rescue Missions, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sequel, Sexual Assault, Succubi & Incubi, Team as Family, Temporary Character Death, Tender Sex, Vampires, Wish Fulfillment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2019-10-29 03:30:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 97,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17800268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatKing_Catkin/pseuds/CatKing_Catkin
Summary: With no reason or warning given, one afternoon by the side of the road, Caleb is torn from their grasp, dragged into a portal beneath his feet and into the waiting arms of something with a cold, predatory smile.One month later, Trent Ikithon presents a grand plan to the King. The Archmage of Civil Influence has developed a means to create vampiric super soldiers that can end the war at a stroke. Caleb is one of his first successful examples.The Mighty Nein have tracked their missing friend to Rexxentraum, only to find themselves at a loss when news of this reaches them. The last time they dealt with a magically-inclined vampire was nearly the end of all of them. Killing him was hard enough - now they need to find some way to save Caleb, and put a stop to Trent's plans before he finds himself commanding an army of perfectly obedient monsters.And Molly knows he might just hold the key to all of this, but it will mean confronting his past for the sake of his love.Sequel to "Traveling Hearts", though I will try to make this easy to follow on its own.





	1. Hopeless

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to be hewing less closely to DND mechanics than I did for Traveling Hearts, because there are some specific scenes that I really wanted to make happen and this entire fic is in service of making happen. Hopefully I will be able to make them sufficiently entertaining that you will indulge me.
> 
> Also, because I finished Traveling Hearts the night after Episode 25, this entire story was envisioned before I knew Caduceus existed. So, much like Yasha was in the last story, I'm afraid Caduceus will be "Sir Not Appearing In This Fic" because - also much like Yasha in the last story - he'd break the plot over his knee. Fortunately, since everyone is Level 14 for purposes of this fic, you can just assume that the gang met him, eventually helped him get the Blooming Grove settled, and now he's back there safe with his family again.

He woke in darkness, gagged and chained.

He didn’t know where he was, and then he realized that he didn’t know  _who_  he was. Through the rise of panic and bile that thought brought, his mind scrambled to take in details. He was on the floor, with two other bodies beside him, similarly bound, seemingly unconscious.  In the dark, it was hard to make out details – there was light at the edge of his vision, but it was dim and faint and cold. The floor beneath his face was etched and scored with deliberate engraving. The air had a medicinal tang undercut with iron. No, not iron.

Blood.

Someone was talking, low and fast. When he lifted his gaze to try and see who, he saw an old man standing just outside the magic circle. He had a severe face, elaborate robes, and his eyes seemed to gleam in the dim light. The old man seemed to hear him move, and gazed down at him so that their eyes met for a long, breathless moment.

But he didn’t stop chanting, and he made no move to help, and in the old man's eyes was something worse than cruelty.

He saw excitement and utter, utter disregard to where the three bound figures on the floor fit into this. He was nothing to this man and  _he didn’t even know why_. He didn’t know what he’d done to wind up here and no one was explaining.

The man simply ended his chanting with an abrupt shout, a word in a language he only vaguely recognized but which made the air shake and hum with power. He felt a rumbling in the floor beneath him, growing more and more severe by the second. The etched magic circle started to glow with a harsh red light and then, all at once, red raw searing  _pain_ shot up his spine to light up every nerve.

He heard himself screaming. He heard the other two screaming. He arched and writhed and  _struggled_ and screamed around the gag with all the strength he had left because it wasn’t going to do anything to save him.

And then he died.


	2. Bolt from the Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yasha Nydoorin is brought up from the dark, waits for her chance, receives a very nasty shock, and gets caught in the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to stick to weekly updates on Mondays, since I am at a job now that's a little more strenuous than the one I was at before. That should give me enough time to keep chugging along on new material and make sure it's all cleaned up and edited. If I get a good buffer going or I think the Monday chapter ran a little short (like this one), I'll bump it up to twice a week. Thank you for your patience.
> 
> (Please do pardon the double notif - I'd initially saved this chapter as a draft to post, but Ao3 had a hiccup where it thought I hadn't, then I reposted Chapter 2 and it suddenly remembered I had a draft here.)

Yasha Nydoorin was waiting for her chance.

She’d been waiting for a while. Considering that she was standing in the throne room of King Bertrand Dwendel, everyone was acting with a remarkable lack of urgency towards her. Of course, she had been shackled and disarmed. But they all knew she was at least nominally a Xhorhasian, she’d overhead them talking about it very intently before she was dragged from her cell and while she was being marched here.

One other person was waiting – it was hard to tell if it was a man or a woman or something else, given that they wore heavy clothes covering them from neck to ankle, a hood, and a golden half-mask in the image of a wolf to conceal the top half of their face, everything above the mouth. She couldn’t see so much as a stray strand of hair. They were standing at a fair distance, against the opposite wall of the throne room as she was. Their hands were folded behind their back, and though they were facing her she couldn’t have said if they were actually seeing anything.

 _A perfect soldier_ , she thought, and then amended:  _No, a perfect dog_.

They’d come in here with Trent Ikithon, just like Yasha had although probably more willing about it, and were waiting patiently while Ikithon explained his plans to the king. Yasha knew she should have gotten a bad feeling about him when they’d crossed paths so many months ago, and now she had it fixed in her mind that if the faintest chance presented itself she would get the chains of her manacles around his throat and  _pull_. He might be a powerful wizard, but he was still an old man. It might be enough. It might be worth it.

There were assorted other nobles in the room, some having come in with Ikithon, some having already been here bending the king’s ear. Otherwise, the old man’s only other staff seemed to be a slim young man dressed as a scribe, with mousy-brown hair and a smile that sent chills down her spine. He stood a respectful pace back from Ikithon and just to his right, but that was still closer than anyone else had been allowed, even the masked figure.

Ikithon had been talking for a while, and she’d mostly tuned him out until the word “Xhorhas” brought Yasha’s attention snapping forcibly back to the present.

“And in Xhorhas’ perpetual darkness, their movements will be entirely unencumbered,” the man was saying, as Bertrand nodded thoughtfully. “Transportation will be slightly more cumbersome, of course, but coffins stack easily enough, and they really do need far less gravesoil than the stories say.”

“And their magical abilities are undamaged?” the king asked.

“Not only are their original talents untouched, their physical attributes are _vastly_ heightened, as I hope to demonstrate today.”

“A wizard with the strength of any of our strongest soldiers…that is quite a promise to make, Master Ikithon. And quite a risk to unleash within the ranks of our own men. I think I would need more of a guarantee as to the totality of your control.”

“Of course. There will be time enough for that. Once the three I have at my disposal prove themselves worthy of your investment, we can swell their ranks quite quickly.”

She saw the king smile. “I look forward to it. But for now, let's see about today’s demonstration.” He clapped his hands, then pointed to the squad of Crownsguard that had dragged Yasha in here. “Loose her and return her weapon.”

Yasha didn’t bother to hide a wolfish grin as she saw the uncertain, anxious glances the guards exchanged amongst themselves. She couldn’t believe her luck, didn’t dare let her wariness fade because it couldn’t be that easy. But the sight of their fear and the promise of having her hands free was still encouraging. She behaved herself as they crept closer, one holding a ring of keys, another holding Magician’s Judge, and two others with their own weapons drawn. She stayed still as the one with the keys managed to get her ankles loosed on the second attempt and her wrists loosed by the fourth. She even nodded politely to the trembling woman who held out her sword to her, and let out a soft sigh of relief as at last her fingers curled around the hilt.

Then she took a deep breath, tipped her head back towards the ceiling, and _screamed_ as she let her dead wings spread and her necrotic aura flare. Red, pulsing mist descended over her eyes and left no thought in her mind besides the fact that the old man was _right there_ with only a skinny little scribe to protect him. Howling her fury, she bodily shoved aside those guards who hadn’t already fled and charged him.

The masked figure was suddenly between them as she brought the blade down, bringing their own sword up to block her swing with such force that metal sparked. The two of them wavered for a moment, each trying to overpower the other, and to her shock her opponent finally bared their teeth and mustered a truly inhuman surge of strength to shove her back, breaking the grapple and giving them a moment to recover their bearings.

Trent Ikithon seemed entirely unruffled, unworried. “Be quicker about it next time,” was all he said. Then he turned his back on them both and stepped closer to the throne room, out of the way, leaving his pet room to work.

The masked figure nodded, then hefted their sword and lunged in close, aiming to stab her through the gut. Yasha managed to block the attack this time before retaliating, trying to catch them in the neck. They weren’t quite quick enough this time and while she didn’t take their head off, she still drew a long, bloody gash down their arm instead.

Scant seconds later when the tip of their blade bit into her hip, she saw dimly through the rage that the wound was already healing.

Back and forth they clashed with the edges of their blades and all the strength at their disposal. Yasha was stronger, her opponent was faster. They cut and stabbed and ruined one another, but her foe would start healing scant seconds after she opened their flesh whereas all Yasha could do was bleed and struggle on. When she tried to get an edge on them by using some of her necrotic power, they didn’t so much as flinch.

Pain and the threat of true weariness drove her into the deeper depths of rage, making her throw herself at them recklessly. Her gamble paid off and she simply shoved their arm aside and then drove the tip of her blade so deeply through their stomach that it came out their back.

Yasha _grinned_ , growling in triumph, giving the blade a firm _twist_ but her foe didn’t so much as whimper in pain. She could see them straining now to keep their feet against the full force of her weight, but they _were_ managing it.

And then, staring fixedly at her all the while as if she were nothing more than a mildly interesting puzzle, they started to drag themselves closer to her, their chest making a horrific _squelching_ sound as inch by inch of metal passed through it. Even in the throes of rage, Yasha found herself simply _staring_ , momentarily horrified into motionlessness.

The stranger was panting slightly when they finally drew themself within arm’s reach, their rapid regenerative abilities apparently no help when the sword was still _in_ their chest. But they still managed to reach out, grab Yasha by the hair, _yank_ her head closer. Yasha felt twin points of pain bloom in the side of her neck before coldness started to spread slowly throughout her body.

They’d bitten her in the throat. That thought came slowly, sluggishly, but was shortly followed by the awful, inescapable realization that _they were sucking her blood_ , drawing in great, greedy, hungry swallows and leaving _nothing_ behind.

She had to do something but every second left her feeling weaker. Her arms felt heavy as lead and her heart was straining against her chest and the monster’s grip was like steel and after everything, was she really going to die here surrounded by eager eyes?

Maybe that was what she’d always deserved.

A flash of lightning turned her vision white, the boom of thunder vibrated from the tips of her fingers to the soles of her feet. She hadn’t even felt the storm brewing, buried deep as she had been in the depths of the castle. But now it was here, and for a moment, just a moment, she felt bolstered and strong with the knowledge that He was close at hand.

A moment was all she needed. With a howl of fury, Yasha grabbed the monster by the back of their hood, _yanked_ them away from her and their fangs out of her neck, and then – acting on wild, desperate instinct – drove her own head forward to slam into theirs’. The impact momentarily blinded her again, she dimly felt her nerveless fingers release the hilt of her sword as she staggered back and away on instinct. When her vision cleared, she saw that she’d successfully dazed them – they stood there, blood smeared around their mouth, shaking their head to try and clear it but she’d hit them hard enough to crack their mask and so it was only fair that their wits would be quite thoroughly rattled for longer than hers’.

As Yasha watched, wavering between fight and flight, the stranger’s desperate head shakes finished the job on the damage she’d done. The mask finished cracking into three pieces and fell from their face.

And for just a moment, Yasha felt like her heart truly had stopped.

“Caleb?” she whispered.

But the eyes were all wrong. As Caleb Widogast lifted his head to glower fiercely at her she saw that his eyes were a deep blood red and his skin was _so_ pale and his hands had been so cold…

Thunder roared, jolting her back to life. More importantly, it gave her the instant of clarity she needed to decide what she had to do.

This was out of her hands. This was so far beyond her. But there was still something she could do, and He was calling her forth to remind her of that.

Yasha Nydoorin took her chance in the breath just before he could lunge again. She whirled and she ran, racing for the nearest window where she could just barely see the storm raging outside through the curtains. She didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate, just threw herself bodily through the glass and out into the open air. It wasn’t far to the ground – she landed on her feet and kept going. Behind her, she heard movement, the crunch of shattered glass beneath boots, and knew he was chasing her. But she could also hear that he hadn’t even stopped to wrench the sword out of his chest, so she was gaining ground.

The gates might have given him time to catch up – she saw them looming through the foggy darkness, surrounded by the indistinct figures of guards, and of course the gates were closed at this time of night. But all at once, an impossibly bright light flared behind Yasha and a heat stronger than any flame caressed her back and the Stormlord’s howl left her briefly deafened but she didn’t _need_ to hear to know what she had to do, to know that suddenly having a lightning bolt come down between him and his quarry would slow even a vampire’s pursuit. More to the point, the guards looked around at the sudden flash and fury only to see her charging them with her wings spread wide and blood smearing her armor and murder in her eyes and a scream in her throat.

They scattered to a one. Yasha let them go and didn’t let her steps slow for an instant. She simply threw herself at the gate, leaping halfway up it in a single bound and hauling herself up hand over hand the rest of the distance to fall onto the other side, out of the palace and free of her chains but quite, quite lost in the city of Rexxentraum.

She staggered back to her feet. The mist was clearing from her eyes, the rage was fading, and she knew that when it did weakness would take its place and a lot of things would suddenly become so much harder.

She had to keep going. She had to find the others. She didn't know where they were but she knew she would travel as far as she had to so they could know what had happened. Besides, He had always guided her back to them before, and she prayed with all her soul that He would guide her now.

So Yasha ran on, her boots splashing in the flooded road, trailing blood behind her that mixed with the water and swirled away. Streets twisted and turned ahead of her and around her. She rounded corners on instinct, at random, barreling past ordinary people hurrying about their business so quickly they barely had time to register her presence as anything but a shove. Slowly, so slowly she didn’t realize it was happening until it was well underway, her strength started to fail her. Her steps slowed from a sprint to a run to a jog and finally to a shuffling, stumbling stagger. Her vision was going grey at the edges, and her breathing sounded much too loud even over the pouring rain and murmuring thunder.

But it wasn’t so loud that she couldn’t hear it when a familiar voice called out her name in horror. “ _Yasha?!_ ”

She stopped moving at last, at last, to see Fjord hurrying out into the downpour to meet her from where he’d been taking shelter under an awning. He was plainly horrified at the sight of her, but his hands were steady all the same as he reached out to draw one of her arms around his shoulders to try and support her weight. “What the _fuck_ happened to you?”

She tried not to slump too much. She knew that Fjord wasn’t as strong as he looked. But it was hard, she was so, _so_ tired and knew that she didn’t have many seconds of consciousness left. “Molly,” she rasped. “I, I need to talk to him. Need to see him. Where’s Molly?”

“All right, all right. He’s inside, come on, but we need to get you some god damn healin’ first.” She was being guided in out of the rain and into the light and even with her waning wits she was able to recognize the light and shape of an inn’s common room. Fjord was grunting and panting a little with the effort of dragging her now that her legs were increasingly failing to obey her, but he kept her from hitting the ground as he called up the stairs. “Jester! Jester, we need you!”

Dimly, she heard voices calling out in reply, then the sound of several pairs of footsteps racing nearer. She saw a blue blur appear at the top of the stairs, then a little green one and another blue one and then finally, finally a familiar lavender shape.

“Molly,” Yasha whispered desperately, as Jester moved to take her weight instead. There was so much she had to tell him, but somehow all that came out was: “I’m sorry. I found Caleb. I’m so, so sorry.”

He’d drawn close enough for her to see his mouth moving, see him asking her what she meant and what had happened even if she couldn’t hear anything anymore. She wanted to answer, to explain, but her eyes wouldn’t stay open any longer, everything felt like it was going away from her and she was too tired to catch up.

Maybe just a minute to rest, and then she would try again.


	3. Another Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yasha breaks the bad news. Molly has a bad time. Nott picks him back up again, and together they make a plan while Jester confers with her god.

Molly must have dreamed of that moment close to every night since it had happened. The only time he was spared was when he was too exhausted to dream. And even in his dreams, he could never change a damn thing.

It had all happened so _fast_.

_The cart had thrown a wheel, a break in the otherwise lazy summer tedium on the road. Jester and Fjord were seeing to it while Nott took the chance to feed the horses and Beau dozed off in the grass. That left Molly and Caleb to keep watch – or, more specifically, for Molly to hold Caleb’s shoulders while Caleb sent his mind riding inside his cat as Frumpkin patrolled the vicinity. Caleb kept up a running commentary of field mice and squirrels to try and keep Molly from getting bored. Molly occasionally showed his gratitude by kissing Caleb’s cheek, his temple, his neck._

_They both felt the faint rumbling in the ground begin beneath their feet. They had just enough time for Molly to look around and see that no one else was feeling it, for Caleb to blink himself back into his body and stammer out: “_ W-Was dur _—?”_

_Then the ground began to rend itself open beneath them, twisting and morphing into a swirling portal down into blood-red darkness. The transformation was not instantaneous; Molly realized what was happening just barely in time, throwing himself backwards and trying to drag Caleb with him, calling for the others even as the others cried out in shock._

_Except as hard as Molly tried to drag Caleb with him back onto solid ground, the portal was pulling Caleb in. It was trying to swallow him down, a force that Molly was not affected by but could still feel in his arms. Caleb scrabbled desperately against it, trying to hold on to Molly, trying to pull free._

_“It’s all right,” Molly insisted, pleading inside for it to be true. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you, it’s going to be all right.” Out of the corner of his eye he could see the others racing to help, trying to push through the strong winds buffeting forth from this hole into hell. He just had to hold on until they got here, then they could all fix this._

_“Please,” he heard Caleb whimpering. “Don’t let go, don’t let—”_

_And then a slim, pale, clawed hand reached through the portal, grabbed the very hem of Caleb’s coat, and_ pulled _. Molly saw it happening as if the world had slowed to molasses. He didn’t feel any of it. He didn’t feel his strength fail, but he saw Caleb torn from his arms, falling back into the hellish light. He saw Caleb reaching back for him, desperate to be saved, saw the terror in his eyes, and saw_ something _lurking there behind Caleb_ smile _._

_Then he was gone and Molly was throwing himself after him but the portal closed in an instant and he struck nothing but mercilessly solid ground. His fingers dug uselessly into the dirt, through the worms, and there was nothing but more dirt beneath. All their magic and tracking skills and knowledge availed them nothing over the next several minutes, then hours._

_Caleb was gone, and they had no idea how, why, or where._

That had been nearly a month ago.

It had all happened so fast, as if some wrathful god had decided on a whim that Caleb and Molly had been happy together for long enough and now the world at large could go back to trying to keep them apart. When Molly didn’t dream of that moment stretched out into a hellish eternity, he had nightmares of Caleb trapped somewhere else, somewhere far away, tortured and hurt and suffering in all the ways Molly’s vivid imaginings could conjure up, calling for his friends to help him but Molly didn’t know where he _was_.

Rationally, he knew he hadn’t been the easiest to deal with over the past few weeks. The others had proven themselves saints in turn by dealing with him anyway as well as their own fears. Even Beau. Especially Beau.

They’d eventually been able to determine that Caleb was no longer on the same plane of existence as they were when Jester scryed for him and saw nothing. By the time they’d even begun to figure out how they could get to another plane of existence, let alone pinpoint the right one, Jester had apparently conferred with the Traveler only to discover that Caleb was not only _back_ on their plane of existence, but in Rexxentraum. They’d been angling for the Menagerie Coast at that point, meaning for Yussah Erranis to help them manage magics far beyond them for a sake of a trip to another world. Turning around and heading back inland, towards the very heart of the Empire, had taken much too long even after abandoning the cart, riding full-tilt, and risking the horses day by day.

When they’d gotten to Rexxentraum the night before, even that hadn’t given them any reprieve. The first inn they’d tried to stay at had had _Cree_ of all people drinking in the common room – not just Cree but, as it turned out, _the entirety of the Tomb Takers_. Molly had managed to see her before she saw him and make a hasty exit, with Nott and Beau right behind him. Fjord and Jester hadn’t been so lucky. Fortunately, they had been able to come up with a decent lie and make the right excuses, and in the meantime hear from Cree that she’d gotten rumors about something brewing in the king’s court that was bad enough for her to take an extended leave of absence from the Gentleman’s service, as well as get the old gang back together. She had refused to say anything more to anyone who wasn’t Lucien, and that was fine by Molly. Because his friends were saints among mortals, they’d just gone and found another inn without any discussion needing to be had. And in the first bit of true good fortune they’d all seen in weeks, Yasha had turned up outside the very next night.

It took all of Jester’s healing power to drag her back from the edge, and even then, Yasha slept for hours afterwards, well past midnight. When she woke, she tried to launch into an accounting of things right away, but they all insisted she eat something first. Molly insisted right along with them.

Otherwise, none of them got any sleep in that time beyond the occasional restless catnap. Molly did his friends perhaps the only true favor he’d been able to manage for much too long and stayed out of their way – first in the common room, drinking himself nearly sick, and then out into the alleyway beside the inn to smoke something interesting and spicy-smelling that he’d bought two months ago back in Felderwind. But when Beau came down to tell him that Yasha was settling in to talk, he tore the alcohol out of his body without a word or a twitch and followed her upstairs.

It was an exhausted Mighty Nein who finally all gathered together in the room where they’d gotten Yasha settled to hear her accounting of the last little while.  Molly was the last to enter, and Yasha’s gaze immediately snapped to him. When she held out a hand, his heart ached with weariness and longing, and he went to her without hesitation. She drew him onto the bed beside her and held him tucked against her side. Molly pressed against her, holding her hand and hiding his face in her shoulder so he didn’t have to look at everyone else’s shocked and stricken faces.

He knew then that the news must be even more awful than he’d feared. He wished she’d come right out and say as much, but she started from the beginning instead, and rationally he knew that was best.

Yasha had been captured about a week ago, as her wanderings took her through the Zemni Fields. She’d been taken to the capital and thrown in a dungeon. She’d overheard from her guards that she had been hunted down and captured specifically because she was Xhorhasian, identified as such and located by Trent Ikithon. When she’d been let out, she had been taken up to King Bertrand Dwendel’s throne room, there to wait and overhear a proposal that Ikithon was making before the king, as well as be an unwilling participant in the demonstration that followed.

“He wants to use vampires as soldiers,” Yasha said. “Especially if they already have magic power. He, he wants to use them as a strike force to cut into Xhorhas and end the war.”

Molly didn’t have to lift his head to feel the ripple that went through the room at that word. He knew they were feeling the same lurching thrill of horror that he was. They’d dealt with vampires before. Worse still, Maxwell Virago _had_ been an impossibly powerful wizard in his own right, on top of being physically powerful enough to clash with Jester, Fjord, Beau, and Nott together and _very nearly_ hold his own. He had nearly been the end of them all. He _had_ been the end of Caleb, though mercifully only temporarily. No, they had all had quite enough of dealings with vampires for one lifetime. But it seemed the world would not be so kind as that. On some level, they all knew what was coming next before Yasha said it.

“And he’s made Caleb into a vampire, too. To use him as an example of how…efficient that could be.”

Expecting it didn’t make the blow fall any easier.

Molly heard Jester gasp, heard Beau swear, heard Nott whisper a heartbroken, disbelieving “no”. He finally, finally managed to lift his head again to see them all, to try and at least share fully in their pain even as it felt like his heart was rotting in his chest. Jester had her hands over her mouth and tears spilling down her cheeks, Fjord was holding Nott’s shoulders as she trembled like a leaf and dissolved with a terrible inevitability into weeping. His tears were silent. Beau was simply staring at her feet, hands clenched at her sides, radiating raw, bleeding grief in waves.

But she wasn’t crying, either, and that was one small comfort in the midst of a sea of hell. Molly’s eyes itched and burned so fiercely, but somehow the tears would not come, even as his mind  _tormented_ him with memories, shoving them to the forefront now that they meant nothing.

He remembered seeing everyone coming out of the Knowing Mistress' temple with Caleb in tow, remembered throwing caution to the wind and running right to him to plant a kiss on his lips. He remembered the first time he'd let Caleb into his memories, the first time Caleb had let Molly wash his hair, countless nights of playing with Frumpkin while Caleb studied. Molly remembered dropping a matching flower crown onto Caleb's head the last time they'd passed through Hupperduke, dancing with him during the last Harvest Festival, and the moment he'd finally,  _finally_ gotten the courage to use the word "love" one night on watch together. He couldn't even remember now what had prompted it, just that the stars had been so bright and Caleb had been so close and he'd made a stupid joke about his cat and the word had passed Molly's lips before he could even remember to be scared.

And now Caleb was dead. Caleb was  _w_ _orse_ than dead. 

His body didn’t even entirely feel like it belonged to him anymore. It felt like he was just a passenger stuck a foot behind his own eyes. At least that left him able to get to his feet, go to Jester, and pull her into a hug. She lost any pretense at composure the second her head was pressed against his chest, letting out a desperate _wail_ and flinging her arms around him to sob freely. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, no matter how much it hurt to speak, squeezing her tightly. “I’m so sorry, dear.”

Over the top of Jester’s head, he saw Yasha staring fixedly at Beau with an unreadable expression on her face. Until at last, his friend got up just enough to take Beau by the hand and pull her closer. Beau let herself be drawn, numb and uncomprehending, until Yasha hugged her, too. A second ticked by, then two, then three – and then Molly saw Beau’s shoulders start to shake with painfully minute little tremors, too.

Caleb had been the first of their number to die, but he hadn’t been the last. They’d all known the Raven Queen’s cold kiss since then, whether it be for a handful of seconds or a handful of days. It never hurt any less. Molly knew in his bones that it was the kind of thing that _should_ never hurt any less.

Still. They had dealt with this before, and some things did get easier. After what was probably no more than an hour, when the sky outside was turning the dusty grey of promised dawn, the Mighty Nein pulled apart, at least tried to dry their tears, then settled down to resume their discussions. The facts of the matter had not changed and needed dealing with.

“But, but wait,” Jester stammered, and Molly could hear her still struggling to keep her voice steady. “I thought only a vampire could make another vampire, and when he does the new vampire only listens to him. Trent’s not a vampire, is he?”

“Maybe he made a deal with one,” Beau mused darkly. “A…’supplier’.”

“Maybe,” Yasha said. “He definitely isn’t a vampire. But he sounded very certain that he could control Caleb completely. From what I saw, at least, he _could_.”

“Doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Maybe the one he’s working with told Caleb to listen to him,” Fjord said.

“I don’t know,” Yasha insisted. “There were times when he didn’t even need to say anything. He might have found some other way.”

Molly…stopped hearing much of anything, after that. The talk kept going on around him, washing over him like he was a stone in the river. _Some other way. Some other way._ The words chased themselves around and around the inside of his skull. The reason why was right on the edge of his thoughts, creeping closer like a stalking predator, and he was terrified to look right at it because he knew if he did the truth would shatter him utterly.

But he could not hide forever. In the end, the reason pounced with enough force that he knew the truth utterly in his heart. It _could not be_ , and yet it explained _so much_.

It seemed like he blinked, then suddenly Molly was on his feet and everyone was staring at him in mingled confusion and concern. He felt numb to the tips of his fingers, just like he had that day on the side of the road when Caleb had been torn from his arms. He heard himself say, “I need to take a walk.”

None of them stopped him as he brushed past them, out of the room and down the stairs and out of the inn and into the rain he knew was falling on him but he couldn’t feel at all.

Or at least, none of them stopped him right away. Molly had barely gone a block before he heard ragged breathing behind him and small footsteps splashing in the puddles. “Mollymauk!” Nott called. “Wait!”

He stopped. With a supreme effort of will, he even made himself turn around to look at her as she closed the distance between them at an ungainly run. She stopped, panting, hands on her knees. When she looked up at him, he saw that she was still crying, tears pouring from her yellow eyes and mingling with the rain.

He realized dully that, at some point, he’d started crying, too. As if he _deserved_ to.

“Don’t leave,” she said. “I, I know this is hard for you—” And Molly felt a pang in his chest cut through the numbness. Even now, he could appreciate that the weight of grief on his shoulders probably wasn’t even half of what it was for her, she who had known Caleb longest and best. It was selfish to pretend otherwise, but selfishness was suddenly the least of his sins. “—but we _need_ to stay together if we’re going to fix this. We need to stay together so we can keep each other safe! There, there are _vampires_ here, Molly! You’ve gotten kidnapped by them before!”

She probably didn’t mean it as a tease or a jibe, she meant it as a simple statement of fact because it _was_ a fact. The last time they’d dealt with a vampire, Molly had been the one getting dragged beneath the earth, lost to them for much too long.

She probably meant the words with all the solemnity they deserved. Molly laughed anyway. It started as a broken little giggle bubbling up from the pit of his stomach, then as Nott stared in dumbfounded horror it became full-blown laughter, long and hard enough to make his shoulders shake and his stomach hurt and, eventually, his legs give out. He was suddenly at eye-level with Nott, suddenly on his knees, and he _just kept laughing_ until slowly, seamlessly, the laughter became weeping.

Cautiously, as if trying to gentle a wounded animal, Nott crept closer, slid her arms around him, and held him without a word while Molly sobbed and shook apart.

“You don’t get it,” he finally croaked. “I’m not the one who can fix this. I’m the reason this happened in the first place.” He hiccupped pitifully, painfully, screwing his eyes shut tight in a vain attempt to brace himself for the words he knew he had to say. “This is _my fault_ , Nott. This is all my fault.”

She made a soft, sympathetic sound and he felt her stroke his sodden hair. “Molly, we’ve all told you, I know you blame yourself for that day, but—”

“Not that.” He still caught himself treading the well-worn path of castigating himself for not being stronger, for not holding on tighter, but that wasn’t what had seized him with guilt this time. Molly took a deep breath, and then another and another, before he was finally able to ask: “How much did Caleb ever tell you? About the work he was doing for—” Even now, even just that damn name made his heart quail for a traitorous moment. “—for Virago, in between trying to find me and get you all out?”

It was just a little bit gratifying, the way he felt her tense at the name, at the memories. To be reassured again that he wasn’t the only one still so scared of those times. “Not very much,” she finally said. “He, he knew he couldn’t trust me while I was…like that. I just knew what Virago told him, that it was a ritual that you’d made for him a while back but you’d encrypted it. He didn’t tell me any more after that, because…”

She trailed away, but she didn’t have to finish. Molly knew what she meant well enough. _Because we all wanted to forget_ , she meant. And _because we all wanted to move on_. And then they’d started to learn of the traumas left behind in their hearts that they _hadn’t_ been able to forget so easily, so they’d all had to spend so much time and energy learning how to cope and help one another heal instead.

Yasha knew, of course. It had taken him too long to tell her what happened but, once he had, Molly was simply not used to hiding details from her anymore and so had told her everything.

Caleb knew. They had told one another everything of what they’d been through, in that place and after, when it became clear that secrets and pain might well doom their budding relationship before it even began unless they let the poison out.

The others deserved to know, too, but Molly was selfishly glad that he could just start with Nott first.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Well, after we got out of there, I started remembering some things. About before. About _Lucien_.” The word was a curse, a venomous oath. He hadn’t thought he could hate his past life more, and those memories had proven him wrong.

“He tried to make me remember. Used the same magic he used on you lot to make you think Jester was dead to try and put Lucien’s memories back in my head. He couldn’t do much at a time, but he didn’t have to. I started remembering on my own, while we were on our way to Zadash. And one of the things I remembered was making that ritual for him – a blood ritual to turn someone into a vampire without having to bite them. Hell, not just someone. _Someones_. People. As many as you could fit in a magic circle. And without them having to take a dirt nap first. It was so  _efficient_.” He chuckled darkly. “He was always one for efficiency, was Maxwell. Always one for thinking he could _improve_ on matters.”

“Molly--” Nott stammered, tremulous and heartbroken, but he cut her off mercilessly because he _had_ to keep going. She had to understand before he lost his nerve.

“Except it was never meant to work! I made it so that whoever cast it would get their head blown off and whoever it was getting cast on would die. I encrypted it so we’d have enough time to get away before he tried. Except he obviously figured out something was wrong because then he just spent _years_ going out and finding bastards like us to charm back to his house, use as free labor to try and find the missing puzzle pieces, test out his efforts on, and then raise them up to use as _bloody cleaning staff_!”

Maxwell had been just enough of a suspicious bastard to use his thralls to test the magic and more than enough of a monster to simply go out and find more thralls when the trap – Lucien’s trap, _Molly’s_ trap – killed them. So many deaths, countless deaths, all on him, all his fault, just because he’d been so _arrogant_. Worst of all, he’d been so focused on his own mad, desperate dreams that he had preferred to _use_ Virago and then make a quick escape rather than actually, truly risk himself in a fight to get rid of him.

“But we burned the house, though,” said Nott, in a very small voice. “And we burned him.” They’d danced through his ashes, and the light of the burning mansion had lit their way for miles. “And, and Caleb _is_ a, a—” She couldn’t say it. He didn’t blame her. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t, either,” Molly said dully, because she was right. There was still a piece of this puzzle he was missing and somehow that was the most terrifying thought of all. “But _somehow_ , Trent got his hands on my work. And he _fixed it_.” And now the Cerberus Assembly, the entire Empire, had the ability to make _magical vampire soldiers_ under the complete and total control of one of the worst men alive.

Nott said nothing as Molly ran out of words. She just held him and he huddled in her grasp as the rain fell on them both.

Finally, she took a deep breath. He heard it rattle in her chest.

“That wasn’t you,” she said, soft but firm.

Surprise hit him like a shove to the chest, knocking him a little further out of the mire of guilt and shame. It was enough to let him lift his head to stare blankly at her in disbelief. This was Nott the Brave, known to some as _Veth Brenatto_ , who in the very earliest weeks of their acquaintance had superciliously declared that she would be ready to help Molly deal with his past when he decided he was ready. He’d told her to fuck off, meant it, and would have meant it had he said it again on any other day but this one. So this reply from her was a shock, to say the least.

But Nott met his gaze with no hesitation, with utter sincerity. There was a grim set to her jaw and mouth, something satisfied and sure in her eyes. “I remember the night you remembered all of that,” she said. “Remembering it scared you so much that you started trying to claw your face off, didn’t it? That’s why that happened? I saw your eyes, Molly, while we were all trying to wake you up. I will _never_ forget that look.” In fact, the memory apparently shook her so badly, even now, that Nott freed an arm from around him for the sake of grabbing her flask and taking a few solid swallows. She made to put it back, apparently thought better of it, then offered it to Molly instead. Molly didn’t hesitate to grab it, paused long enough to offer her a nod of thanks, and downed several gulps of whiskey until he felt some warmth come back into his chest.

“The person who made that ritual was someone who _horrified_ you so much that you tried to hurt yourself,” Nott said, nodding firmly as she replaced her flask on her belt. “You love Caleb. I know that. I’ve seen it. Anyone who would make something like that, something that could hurt him, is not you. _Fuck them_.”

Molly felt like a man clinging with the very tips of his fingers to this lifeline being offered to him. But it was _something_. In the depths of grief and fear, it was _something_.

“Fuck them,” he whispered. And then, louder: “Fuck him.” The fire in his chest kindled a little higher, bolstered by that old resolve. It gave Molly the strength to get back to his feet, to look down the street, and to confront the idea that had perhaps, even if only subconsciously, driven him out here into the rain in the first place. “We may be stuck cleaning up his mess. But it’s not our mess. And we _will_ fix this.” He didn’t know how, but sometimes all you had to do was tell a lie well enough to fool yourself. Then you could get to work making it true.

“Right!” Nott declared.

Of course, now that he had that fixed in his head, Molly was left to confront the obvious next step. Blindly, he reached out for Nott’s hand. She took it without a word.

“Caleb is the one who did all the research on vampires before?” Molly asked.

“Yes,” Nott said. “But he told Jester a lot of it.”

So they weren’t completely lost in the weeds, then. Even so: “I imagine that was a lot about how to kill vampires. A lot of very piecemeal information on how to kill vampires. And that’s not ideal for us right now, is it?”

“Not really,” said Nott cautiously, clearly waiting for him to get to the point.

Molly did so. “I think I know where we can find some experts.”

She caught on with gratifying swiftness. He saw her eyes go wide with shock – understandable, perhaps, since _he_ was proposing this idea. “Oh,” she said. And then, after a moment of worrying at her lower lip: “Do you want me to come with you?”

He let out his breath in a long, relieved sigh. “Yes. For moral support. And to make sure I don’t do anything _completely_ stupid.”

Nott took a few more swigs from her flask. “No promises.”

“Fair enough.”

“Just let me send a message to Jester to tell her where we’re going.” Nott pulled out her little copper wire, twisted it between her fingers, and whispered into it: _“Molly and I are going to talk to the Tomb Takers. We’ll be back soon. You can reply to this message.”_

She waited quietly until a reply apparently came. Whatever Jester said, Molly didn’t hear it, but Nott apparently felt safe to take his hand and lead him on. “Let’s go!”

Molly squeezed her hand and let her lead the way, grateful for her presence. At least the sun was well and truly rising, now, so they’d be safe from monsters for a time.

*  *  *

None of them liked the idea of Molly going to see the Tomb Takers, but they could also see the logic in it. At least Nott would be going with him. Yasha spent a while visibly grappling with herself over whether she should go, too, but in the end retired back to bed in the face of Beau’s surprisingly gentle insistence.

Jester knew that she should sleep as well. She’d had to use a lot of her power on healing Yasha, and the future looked like one that would require all her strength and more. She needed to rest and recover her magic.

She was drawing, instead, sitting in bed with her sketchbook balanced on her knees. Beau was keeping watch over Yasha and Fjord was keeping watch downstairs and that left Jester alone in their room, burning her special incense, using her most expensive paints to create an offering to the Traveler. The scents and smells of the incense drifted through her mind, clearing her thoughts and letting her hand move almost on its own. Her lines and brush strokes eventually took shape in the form of Caleb’s face, except twisted and wrong. His eyes were open but staring without seeing, nothing behind them. Blood splatters stained his face. She didn’t even bother to take any color to his skin, remembering how very, very pale he’d been while swaddled in the curtains they’d torn down for him.  _He died holding his cat_ , she remembered Molly saying, clear as a bell. 

“I saved him then,” she murmured, adding the last few finishing touches to the gruesome tableau, never lifting her eyes from the page. “What can I do to save him now?”

Silence surrounded her, like the universe itself was holding its breath. She knew that she certainly was.

Then the incense went out in a puff of air edged with a sigh. Ever so carefully, phantom fingers tore the drawing from her book. She watched with bated breath as the paper was pulled back to the other edge of the bed, as the Traveler made himself comfortable and slowly faded into her view.

 _“That power_ , _”_ he said, as he began to fold the drawing into some geometrically dizzying shape. _“Is not one you possess, my dear.”_

She felt like she’d been punched in the stomach, slapped in the face, stabbed in the heart – all of that together, and more, and worse. “But,” she whispered. “But I can heal so much now. I can bring people back to life if they’d been dead a minute or, or ten days, or even a whole year! A whole  _century,_ even! And I don’t even need all of them! So, so even if he turned into dust, I’d just need the dust! Right?” She didn’t like to think that far, she didn’t like to think of them having to _kill_ Caleb. Not least because she didn’t think any of them had it in them – or perhaps it would have been more accurate to say she hoped they didn’t. But it was one thing to stake some poor, nameless peasant through the heart. It was one thing to string Maxwell Virago up from a tree and sing bawdy songs while they waited for the sun to rise.

It was quite another thing to imagine hurting Caleb, one of her dearest friends, as good as a brother, who had been so scared and still fought so hard the last time.

 _“Ordinarily, that would be true.”_ She thought she saw something tighten in his green eyes – something disapproving, something pained. _“That should be true. But undeath creates a corruption in the body that makes it quite…incompatible with holy magic. Even yours’. You would need the sort of magic that could not only reclaim the soul, but create a new body entirely to house it.”_

“Could I learn?” She hadn’t known how to bring back the truly dead when Caleb had first died, after all, but she’d been able to learn as soon as they got back to Zadash.

_“In time. Depending on the road you took. But it would take so long, Jester. Two years, at least, three or four. And only then because I know how very clever you are.”_

Jester’s jaw set. Her fists clenched so hard she was dimly surprised her brush didn’t crack. _No_. Years without Caleb was _unacceptable_. Years without his smile and his cat and his perfect timekeeping and his kindness, she would _not_ allow it.

The Traveler tilted his head to regard her, obviously seeing her anger, obviously considering his next words with uncharacteristic care. Her heart lurched with shock when he actually chuckled. _“So very clever,”_ he mused. _“Even if you are asking_ entirely _the wrong questions.”_

She recognized the chiding well enough. With an enormous effort of will, Jester forced her breathing to steady, focused on the next blank page in her sketchbook until her temper cooled and sense returned.

“This is not a power _I_ possess,” she whispered, scarcely daring to raise her voice in case she scared the idea off. “But someone else does?”

 _“Yes.”_ Even now, especially now, her heart warmed at the pride in his voice.

“Someone close?”

 _“In this very city, in fact. They’ve been saving it for a rainy day. Well—”_ She looked up to see him gesturing grandly at the window, at the rain pattering against it that was gilded pink and gold in the light of a new morning. _“—what sort of a day would you call this?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really use tumblr anymore except to post chapter updates, but you can find me on twitter at hickumu if you want to say hello!


	4. Lesson Learned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and Cree have a talk as Molly reflects unwillingly on their shared past. Meanwhile, the rest of the Mighty Nein get a most unexpected visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've come down with a bit of a nasty cold so I'm afraid this might be the only chapter you get this week. Rest assured, though, there is certainly more to come.

Molly made them stop and buy something to eat for breakfast on the way back to the Upright Archway. Nott grumbled at even that small delay but didn’t hesitate to stuff a few meat pies into her mouth anyway. Molly hoped the food made her feel, if not better, than at least steadier. It certainly did for him. Had he been making this trek alone he might have foregone food entirely but considering her meant that he had to consider himself. And even with as broken and awful as the world felt right now, food was an easy consideration to make. No matter what else went wrong, food remained a constant, unchanging need. There was no bad situation that could not be at least marginally improved by it – that was one of the first lessons he’d ever learned, and it had steered him right.

Besides, that small delay slowed them down enough that they arrived at the other inn at about the time in the morning when people might actually be awake. Molly knew that having to loiter in the tavern area while he waited for Cree to wake up was as sure a recipe as any to make him lose his nerve.

The plan was that he would get her talking and try to get what information he could, and meanwhile Nott would sneak upstairs and do what she could to go through their things, find out what else they might be hiding. Between her cloak and her invisibility spells, she was confident that she could get past the other Tomb Takers even if they were still in the rooms, as long as they were asleep. And honestly, having seen some of the stunts she’d pulled in the past, Molly believed her.

He blocked the alley for her while she turned herself invisible. He felt her pat his hand as she passed back into the street but otherwise neither saw nor heard anything from her after that, not even a telltale splash of footprints. Molly would just have to trust that she’d do her part, as he would do his.

Molly lingered for a moment, there in the street, out in the rain. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and reluctantly tried to shift his thoughts into something like Lucien’s.

It was _distressingly_ easy. Even with the few small hints he’d remembered, the snatches of moments between him and her, Molly had no doubt that he could deceive her. After all, he’d done so before with nothing but a hug and some leading questions. Now he could remember just how close they’d been, even if he felt nothing for her now. The mental disconnect had always unsettled him, and was the very reason that, even so long after, he occasionally woke up to find one of his friends holding him down because he’d been trying to claw at his face in his sleep.

 _There’s time for that later_ , he reminded himself sternly, and opened his eyes. Molly would cheerfully, happily choose bad dreams every night for the rest of his life if it meant having Caleb back. He walked into the bar and looked around for Cree. She was thankfully as easy to spot now as she had been the first time they’d tried to stay here. _Of course_ , he thought, though the thought wasn’t entirely his. _She’s always been an early riser._

Once he saw her sitting by herself at the bar and nursing a plate, he didn’t let himself hesitate, just walked right over, sat down on the stool beside her, and leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek before she could even fully process what was happening. “ _There_ you are,” he said, suffusing carefully calculated warmth and mostly genuine relief into his voice. “Cree, dearest, I’m _so_ glad I found you.”

She brightened immediately when she recognized him. “Lucien!” He held out his arms for a hug which she accepted happily, clinging to him fiercely for a moment. “I saw your friends the night before last, but they said you weren’t with them. That you had other affairs to see to. I am _very_ glad to see you now, old friend.”

“Oh, the feeling is mutual. I’m sorry to have kept you all waiting. I really did have some things to make sure of – but I think we might be here on the very same business.” He tilted his head meaningfully. “Chasing the same rumors.”

Her expression went sober. She sat up straight, like the dear, devoted lieutenant she still was at heart. “I thought as much. Or I…hoped as much. It will be good to have your help in this, Lucien.”

“It will be good to give it. Before we go any further, I want to hear what you lot have found out. See just how much I should be bringing you up to speed. You’ve heard that Trent Ikithon is up to something terrible, yes? Something that involves a lot of bad magic raising up a lot of undead things.”

Cree nodded. “We had not heard which specific member of the Cerberus Assembly was spearheading these efforts, though if one is involved, I would not be surprised to know they all had a hand in it. Were you alerted to these activities by the same message, then?”

“I don’t think so.” It was probably safe to admit as much.

Sure enough, Cree’s expression didn’t so much as twitch. “Ah, fair enough. I suppose the spellslinger might still have no reason to account for you as…someone who could be contacted.” She grinned weakly, and he made himself return it as his memory flipped a card. _Spellslinger lady. The one with the book_. “She sent me a Sending in a panic, begging me to come to her aid in Rexxentraum, offering anything. One spell a day for four days in succession. Then nothing.”

Molly winced. “Probably dead, then.”

“Unfortunately likely. But once we arrived here and started gathering rumors, putting our talents to work, we realized that whatever bad business she had gotten herself involved in still warranted investigation.”

“Of course. That was the right decision to make.”

Her tail gave a pleased little wriggle. “Then how were you alerted to whatever is happening here, Lucien?”

Molly leaned back against the bar, steepling his fingers on his chest – a calculatedly languid and casual move that also gave him a second to deliberate. “Before I get into that,” he said. “I wanted to ask you – how much do you remember about an old acquaintance of ours’, a leech that called itself Maxwell Virago?”

Cree visibly bristled, baring her teeth in an audible growl. “ _Too much_. I promise you, we have been waiting for the chance to pin him down again and finish him off properly.”

“Well, then I’m pleased to be bringing _some_ good news, at least. Not that long ago, the Nein and I crossed paths with the bastard. Took some doing, but this time, we were able to finish the job.” It had in fact been some time ago, though there were some days when it never felt far enough away. Better to fudge the truth in that respect, however, so as not to get them both distracted by her asking why it had taken him this long to let her know.

Cree seemed to believe him. Though she looked shocked at first, it was replaced by an impressed look in short order, and grateful besides. “That is _wonderful_ to hear, Lucien. I confess, it is always a weight off my mind to know there is one less leech plaguing the world – especially one that knew a magic trick or two.”

Molly bit back another wince. _A trick or two_ , she said, which made him flash back to the underground bubble, to the heavy chains dragging him back against the wall. She didn’t know the half of it and, even now, he was glad of that.

Cree saw the flicker of his expression, but thankfully misinterpreted it. She reached out to pat him companionably on the shoulder. “It was a good plan,” she said. “I thought it would work, too.”

“It _should_ have,” Molly grumbled. “How was I to know he’d be quite such a suspicious arsehole when he asked me to do something like that to begin with?” Cree nodded her agreement. Molly took a deep breath, steeling himself, before he continued on: “As it happens, he not only avoided getting his head blown off, but I think he found someone to fix what I made broken. I burned his damn house down, I burned him, but my work is still out there and someone actually got it working.”

Comprehension dawned gratifyingly quickly. “You think Trent Ikithon has a _working_ copy of your blood ritual?”

“I think he does. I haven’t seen for myself, of course, but a contact of mine here in the city managed to get a glimpse of a demonstration he presented to the king just last night. It was _definitely_ a vampire he had following him around, and it certainly seemed to be obeying him.”

She had to take a second to digest the situation being laid out before her. Molly couldn’t blame her. The tabaxi stared pensively down into her mug of half-drunk ale, drumming her fingers on the tabletop in an anxious little tattoo. In the end, however, she said what he’d known she would say – the only thing _to_ say, really, for someone like her. “He cannot be allowed to keep it. To act on it any further.”

“I know.”

“But taking on a wizard of the Cerberus Assembly…that is quite a tall order, my friend. Even for you. Even for us.”

“I know.” But she seemed to be listening to him attentively and considering what he was saying, so Molly didn’t hesitate in the slightest to go for broke. “But I was thinking, if we could get the ones he’s turned already away from him, they could help us. Give us information about what we’re walking into, maybe even assistance depending on how they’re feeling.”

As he talked, he realized that this time Cree was _staring_ at him as if he’d suddenly started speaking Primordial, and Molly’s heart sank. ”Lucien,” she said slowly, cautiously. “If he has turned people already, then they will be his servants, as surely as if he were a vampire himself. They will obey him utterly, in all things. There _is_ no way to get reliable information from them if he does not want us to have it. You know that.”

Molly made a frustrated noise and waved his hand dismissively. “Fine, fine, that’s how things _normally_ work. But this isn’t normal! This isn’t _nature_ , Cree, this is _magic_. And magic can be reversed. I _know_ we could think up a way, you and me and the rest. We could save them!”

“They are _past_ saving, Lucien!” Cree snapped, and the sheer sudden _sharpness_ in her tone hit him like a blow, making him sway back in his seat for a moment, eyes wide, heart twisting in dread. “You told me that. Better _dead_ than in the hands of someone like Maxwell Virago or anyone who would consort with him!”

“I know what I said!” Molly snapped back, trying to stand his ground even as he felt the world unraveling around him along with his last hope. “But I was – that was _wrong_ , Cree! We shouldn’t just give up on people like that, especially when we’re the reason they were turned to begin with! I, I thought that way once, but I was wrong, and I see that now because he has someone _very_ important to me and I’m not going to just write him off as a lost cause!”

He could see a slow, terrible sympathy dawning on her face but he knew it would be entirely for the wrong reason. She opened her mouth to say something, he started to cut her off, when the memory hit him with the force of an axe between the eyes.

_“I know this is hard for you,” he murmured to her, squeezing her shoulder. They stood side-by-side at the bottom of the cellar stairs, watching as the monster struggled and writhed in its chains, screaming curses at them both. It looked like a male, black-furred tabaxi. It looked like her brother. But he knew better, and she had to know that, too._

_Even so, her hands were shaking around the stake. But he would not shame her for that. His had shaken the first few times, too. “But you’re doing the right thing,” he carried on. “That isn’t your brother anymore. It’s a monster that’s plundered his memories and wants to use his body to hurt you and as many of the people he loved as it can. The kindest thing you can do for him now is to put a stop to it. Once and for all.”_

_She was silent and still for one second, two, three, so focused on trying to swallow back the tears gathering in her eyes that it left her unable to take a single step. Finally, Lucien sighed softly and reached for the stake, meaning to do it himself and spare her this, only for her to jerk it sharply away from him._

_“I know,” she whispered, and stepped forward to finish the job._

When reality swam back into focus around him, Molly found himself doubled over on his barstool, clutching his aching head, shaking like a leaf with only Cree’s hand on his shoulder to ground him. She was saying something to him, low and urgent, but damned if he could understand what.

At least she fell silent when he held up a hand, stepped back to let him sit up, and didn’t stop him when he reached out, grabbed her mug, and drained the last of her ale in three long swallows.

“Right,” Molly said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand when he was done. “I can see I’ve been going about this all wrong. Of course. How can I expect you to help me when you don’t really know what I’m asking, and how can you know what I’m asking when I’m not even being honest with you? So let’s start over.” He held out a hand to her. “My name is Mollymauk Tealeaf. That’s the only name I’ve ever had, and it’s the only name I want. What’s yours’?”

Cree stared at his hand like it might bite her, then up at his face, and he could see something like dawning horror in her eyes. It was a feeling he’d become intimately acquainted with over the last day or so. “Lucien,” she said. “I don’t—”

“Not Lucien,” said Molly firmly. “Mollymauk. Or Molly, if you’d prefer.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again, then tried one last time. “I don’t understand,” she whispered.

He smiled weakly at her. “That makes two of us.” But he had thrown himself off the edge and into empty air, so the time for wondering if he could really fly was long past. “When I woke up in the grave you put him in, I didn’t remember anything – not about him, not about how I got there. Nothing. So I dug my way out, made my way along, got picked up by a traveling circus. When that fell apart, I got picked up by the Mighty Nein instead. And when you first found me in the Evening Nip, I panicked. I lied. The circus taught me to be a very good liar. And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have strung you along.”

Cree shook her head. “But—” She stammered. “But you _do_ remember. You must! How else would you know about Virago, or—”

“Because Virago knew about _me_. He came swanning into our camp one night, enchanted half the group, dragged us all back to his lair, and spent far longer than I like to think about trying to get me to agree to puzzle out a ritual I didn’t even remember writing. So, he used some magic to jog my memory and that’s why I remember more than I ever wanted to about before. But it’s left me even more certain that I don’t want to remember any more.”

Her expression twisted in pain and even now, _because_ he remembered more than he’d ever wanted to, Molly felt that pain as an echo in his chest. “If, if you’ve only remembered fragments, then of course you wouldn’t understand,” she said. “We could tell you more. Tell you everything. You were doing _such_ important work, something we all believed in, you most of all. If you just let us explain, properly explain, I’m sure you would see and understand.” She closed her eyes, shook her head. “I knew one of us should have stayed by you. Waking up without memories in such a state, it must have been terrifying. But we’re all here for you now, Lucien. It might have taken a terrible crisis for us all to gather together again, but we can _help_ you now, and—”

Molly growled faintly in frustration. “You’re not hearing me. My name is Molly. Lucien is _dead_ , and I’m fine to keep it that way.”

He knew he’d overstepped the mark by the look on her face. He might as well have stabbed her in the gut.

Molly tried to amend, to soften the blow, desperately and increasingly frantic to save this chance, to save _Caleb_. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t still help each other,” he said. “You’re free to do what you want, now! You don’t have to keep sticking to his plan. We can find a better way, we can save people this time! You have to see that sacrificing people for some grander plan, some greater goal, that’s _awful!_ That’s no better than what Trent is doing now! But you, all of you are still good people. I know that. You don’t have to be scared of him anymore, you can—”

 _“Leave_. _”_

Molly’s pleas died in his throat. Cree’s hands were clenched tight enough to be shaking. The light of murder was in her eyes.

He tried again. He tried one last time. He was well beyond pride now, after all. “Cree, _please_ —”

She surged forward with a howl of fury, shoving him off his seat and into an ungainly sprawl on the floor. _“Get out!”_ she screamed, and now all eyes in the tavern were on them. “Liar! Faithless deceiver! Get out and never let me catch sight of your stolen face again! If our paths ever cross I swear to you, for Lucien’s sake, _I will kill you myself_!”

For a long moment, Molly laid where he’d fallen, staring at the ceiling as the world pitched and spun around him, as he felt his heart turn to lead in his chest.

 _It’s a monster that’s plundered his memories and wants to use his body to hurt you and as many of the people he loved as it can,_ he’d told her once. _The kindest thing you can do for him now is to put a stop to it. Once and for all_

She’d learned that lesson well.

But he would not let her lump him together with some slavering vampire thrall. He would not let her make it that easy on herself. So Mollymauk Tealeaf got to his feet, entirely unhurriedly, dusted himself off, and then leveled Cree with a glare apparently fierce enough to make her freeze in place, every muscle tensing visibly.

“Nothing would make me happier than for our paths to never cross again,” he said, very quietly. “But I’m warning you. That goes both ways. I am _going_ to save Caleb, no matter what. And if any of you try to stop me, or get in my way, then I will put you in the ground and I won’t feel a thing.”

He could see in her eyes that she understood, that she believed him, which was good because Molly could scarcely remember ever meaning any words more than those in his entire short life.

With all that said and done, he simply nodded at her, turned on his heel, and marched out of the crypt-quiet inn. He could only hope that, even if he’d fucked everything else up, he’d given Nott enough time to search for something interesting.

*  *  *

The patter of the rain was soothing on his skin, a warm caress of life and grounding. Molly stopped a few houses down from the inn, head tipped back, staring into the stormy sky with its clouds gilded gold by the hidden sun.

He was well familiar with the sensation of a disembodied voice whispering in his ear without so much as a breath to accompany it. But Molly’s heart still leapt up into his throat when this one came, because she had never contacted him in such a way before.

 _“Feed him the blood of the one who sired him,”_ Cree said, in an unreadable tone of voice. _“That will give him back his mind. And then you will see for yourself that his soul is beyond saving.”_

“Thank you,” Molly said, and meant it.

Then he resumed his walk down the street, meaning to get at least a little distance before he waited for Nott to catch up. After all, the Crownsguard might be along soon to investigate the momentary chaos.

*  *  *

Jester and Beau had finally, truly gone to sleep, laying sprawled together in one of the room’s beds after insisting against all her protests that Yasha keep the other. Yasha, meanwhile, was finally starting to feel a little more herself again, and so was keeping watch over them both. As she ran a whetstone over the battered, scavenged greatsword that Jester had retrieved from the bag of holding for her, Yasha wished yet again that she’d been able to keep a hold on Magician’s Judge. But she knew that taking even an extra second to try and wrench the sword free of Caleb’s body when Caleb himself hadn’t even seen it as worth bothering with might have been the end of her.

So she would do the best she could with what she had. She’d dealt more damage with worse weapons in the past, even if having the ability to cut straight through a wizard’s power would have been immeasurably helpful under these circumstances.

Fjord was still keeping watch for Molly and Nott downstairs, meaning to retire once they were back safe. Yasha meant to insist that Molly and Nott do the same. They had all given her time to rest and recover for the sake of laying the most awful news in their laps. Rest was the least she owed them in turn. In the meantime, she knew she perhaps should have been downstairs with Fjord, keeping him company. But at least at this time in the morning, the common room would be filling up with people, and he could escape up to them in a hurry if that turned out to not be enough.

Meanwhile, the cheap wooden doors and simple windows of the room didn’t feel nearly safe enough for Yasha to feel comfortable leaving Beau and Jester to sleep. She would keep watch here.

When the pensive stillness was broken abruptly by a knock on the door, Yasha was on her feet with sword in hand before Beau and Jester had even started struggling to sit up. She only let out a breath when Fjord’s voice called from the hallway. _“Yasha? It’s me!”_

That didn’t necessarily mean anything when vampiric wizards were an issue. Yasha knew she had fled the castle too quickly to be easily followed, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have been tracked later. She glanced to Beau and Jester where the other two women were pulling on shoes, getting out of bed. She saw that they understood her fears well enough, but Beau still called out: “We’re not naked, Fjord, come in!”

This he did, opening the door just enough to slip inside and push it mostly closed it behind him. Yasha frowned in concern. Fjord looked shaken and pale, and his gaze kept darting back anxiously towards the door behind him. “Fjord, what happened?” Jester asked, still rubbing sleep from her eyes.

He opened his mouth, closed it again, then sighed in apparent agitation. “Listen,” he said. “Just, just try not to freak out, okay? I tried to make sure every way I knew how, okay? I don’t know how this happened, all I know is it did.”

“Man, spit it out,” Beau grumbled. “It is too goddamn early for this.”

Fjord closed his mouth, closed his eyes, then nodded. “You’re right,” he said, then opened the door to address a figure out in the hall. “Okay, come on.”

Yasha nearly dropped her sword all over again as Caleb Widogast hastened into the room, pushed the door mostly closed behind him, then turned to face them at last. He had blue eyes and his skin had a flush of life to it and he was smiling with heartbreaking relief and recognition as he regarded them.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Oh, I _missed_ you all.”


	5. Insight Check

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and Nott meet Caleb on their way back to the inn. The others talk to Caleb about a plan to escape the sewers. Molly realizes that something is wrong with this picture, but can't quite put his finger on what until too late. A new peril is heralded by the smell of sulfur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG AUTHOR'S NOTE WARNING: This chapter contains oblique references to the events of Chapter 8 of Traveling Hearts, a.k.a the chapter that was one drawn out sexual assault scene. If you wish to skip this, simply pass over the italicized section and the rest of the chapter should be safe. 
> 
> All right, I decided last chapter was a mean cliffhanger to leave you for a week on, so I decided this was worth shrinking my buffer for.
> 
> As I mentioned in a couple of comments, I didn't expect anyone to *precisely* guess what was happening here, since most of the hints you got before were obscure to say the least and most of the ones that might actually mean something got front-loaded into this chapter for reasons of length. I do hope you enjoy the chapter anyway, though.

_“I don’t understand what the point of this is,”_ _Caleb said, as Molly sat down across from him and set the open bottle of wine on the floor between them. The room was dark but for the light of the moon and stars shining down through the open window. The rooms on either side of them were quiet; their friends were probably, hopefully asleep._

_“The point,” Molly said. “Is that we have to talk about what happened.”_

_Caleb went, if possible, even paler. The events of the day had already left him looking shaken and wan. Molly reached out to squeeze his hand, was proud of himself for not wincing when Caleb returned the hold with a grip so fierce it could only be born of total, bone-deep terror._

_“I don’t mean what happened today,” he continued. “I mean what happened in that house. What that bastard vampire did to us. To both of us. And I know facing it and remembering it is going to be terrible, so while we do it we are going to get good and drunk on the best wine I could convince the innkeeper to part with. We’ll wake up_ exceptionally _hungover tomorrow, we’ll make a right nuisance of ourselves complaining about it, and that will give us something else to focus on that’s not Maxwell bloody Virago.”_

_“What good will that do?” Caleb asked quietly, his gaze falling to their joined hands._

_“I haven’t the foggiest,” Molly admitted. “But you’re my problem, now. And I’m yours’.” Flippant, easy words meant to cover up the one little word that still stuck in his throat. But now was not the time for forcing it free. “We are, in fact, one another’s problem, and if we’re going to deal with those problems, we have to know what they are.”_

_This was not anything he_ wanted _to hear. This was not an easy insistence to make. He did not want to_ know _why a simple trip to the bathhouse had made Caleb shut down as sure as if he’d burned someone to death. He did not want to know why the strong, flowery scents Molly and Jester both favored now made Caleb throw up if he caught an especially strong whiff of them to the point that Molly had actually had to get his coat properly laundered with the plainest soap they had._

 _There was some small, childish part of him which insisted that if he did not know, nothing bad had_ really _happened to the man he loved. But something had happened, and he had to know if he was going to be any help, if he was going to be in a position to make sure not to accidentally traumatize Caleb any further. And just because he did not know didn’t mean he didn’t_ suspect _some things. Beau and Fjord had exchanged some_ very _significant looks after they'd finally gotten Caleb calmed down._

_But Caleb still looked hesitant, even scared. And that emboldened Molly enough to pour a generous measure of wine into his own cup and down a healthy swallow. “So I’ll go first,” he declared._

_Even in the dim light, he saw Caleb swallow, saw his knuckles go white. “All right,” he said. And then, soft as a kiss, he whispered: “I’m here, Molly.”_

_Molly smiled at him, and for the first time all day, it didn’t feel like it hurt. “I know,” he said, and then started from the beginning. “When I woke up, there was dirt all around me. I barely had enough room to sit up in that damn bubble. He left me there to fall apart for a while before he wormed his way into my head the first time…”_

*  *  *

“We’re almost there,” Nott said, drawing Molly back to the present. Sure enough, he could see the lamp hanging down from the Rowdy Roc’s awning at the end of the street, shining through the downpour.

She’d caught up to him after only a few minutes in the rain, dropping her invisibility and scaring him half to death. On the walk back, she’d reported on her findings – not much in the way of useful or relevant information on how to deal with vampires, but a lot of equipment she remembered as being helpful. Nott had lifted five vials of holy water, three potions she’d been unable to identify, and one healing potion that she had. She’d also grabbed a few scrolls that neither of them could decipher, under the basis that they might be something that could hurt Caleb and so she didn’t want them in the hands of people who actually wanted to hurt Caleb. Molly had been unable to fault her logic. There was no denying that the Mighty Nein and the Tomb Takers were working largely at cross-purposes now, even if they shared a final goal in the death of Trent Ikithon.

He’d also been unable to fault her technique. Not only had Nott confined herself to lifting small items that probably wouldn’t be immediately necessary in the course of the Tomb Takers' day-to-day work, but she’d taken the time to replace the vials and potions with useless facsimiles she’d had on hand in her alchemist’s kit, and the scrolls with furled parchment containing a student’s solid attempts at arcane transcription that absolutely wouldn’t do anything with how hastily they’d been made. When she’d told him as much, Molly had actually lifted her up from the ground to plant a solid, grateful kiss on her forehead. She’d kicked her feet and pitched a fit at that, but after he’d set her back down so they could keep making their way back to the others, he’d noticed her walking with her head held a little higher.

With any luck – and in Molly’s opinion, they were overdue some luck – the Tomb Takers wouldn’t immediately notice they’d been robbed. Even when they did, he let himself hope that he’d put enough fear in Cree’s heart that they wouldn’t immediately retaliate.

Even if they hadn’t found a way to restore Caleb’s humanity, they had found a way to break Ikithon’s control over him. It was something. It was a start. All things considered, the fact-finding mission had gone far better than it had had any right to.

Molly quickened his steps as he approached the awning, looking forward to getting out of the rain once more. Something, however – some strange sense of something out of place – stopped him dead a scant three paces away. Nott darted in ahead of him, reaching the door before she realized that he wasn’t following. She glanced back, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

He sniffed the air once more. “Something smells funny. What is that?” He turned away from the inn, then took a few steps back down the street, racking his brain. “Sulfur?”

Nott groaned, and then he heard her splashing after him. “Molly, there’s a sewer entrance right there!” she said testily. He looked to see her pointing at the grate where it was set into the road at the mouth of an alleyway barely two feet from them. “Of course it smells like shit! What does it _matter_?”

“It didn’t when we got here. Or when we left.” The rainfall had been persistent since early last night. Whenever they’d been outside, he hadn’t smelled much of anything else beyond its clean, familiar scent. But this cloying, rotten-egg stench he’d gotten a whiff of, that was lingering. He didn’t know why but it was something new, something out of place. After the events of the last half a day or so, Molly was finding himself especially on high alert for things like that.

Even so, Nott made a good point. Molly paced a little nearer to the drain, peering down into the darkness. Sure enough, the smell was _stronger_ here, but it was too sharp to fit as simple rot and garbage in his head. In his head, he associated the smell of sulfur with the smell of some of Caleb’s spell components. Maybe that was why he was getting so twitchy, on edge. Beau had told him once that scent could be one of the strongest triggers of memory.

The flickering light of an upstairs window caught the edge of _something_ on the very edge of the drain, some slick, tacky substance. Molly was just bending nearer to examine it when a voice spoke from behind him that left him feeling as if the world had been ripped out from under him.

“Mollymauk?”

He whirled around, eyes wide, heart hammering. Off to his right, he heard Nott let out a strangled, joyful cry. Because there in the street – hurrying towards them, soaked to the skin, but smiling and obviously _alive_ – was Caleb.

Nott _blurred_ past Molly, racing to Caleb and throwing her arms around him. “You’re alive!” she cried, and Molly could hear that she was on the verge of sobbing with joy. “Oh Caleb, I knew you’d be okay, I knew it, I just knew it!”

He picked her up, the better to hug her fiercely, and then Molly’s heart skipped a beat because then Caleb _actually set her back down_ before looking up at him and he’d never, never seen a plainer invitation to sweep Caleb into his arms and kiss him silly and cry into his shoulder.

This he did, hurrying closer to pull Caleb into a ferocious embrace before pulling away just enough to claim his mouth in a deep, desperate kiss. The rain, the sulfur, Cree and Trent Ikithon, it all stopped mattering for a blissful, blessed moment. Caleb wrapped his arms around Molly’s neck and moaned softly, brokenly into his mouth and damn it all to all the hells, but Molly was already in tears when they finally pulled away to breathe.

“How?” he whispered, unable to even begin to get his thoughts in order enough to ask more. _“How?”_

Caleb’s expression flickered, betraying a shadow of pain that Molly nevertheless knew meant so, so much. But then, just like that, he smoothed his face back into a calm, even mask. “That is quite a story,” he said. “And one I would rather not tell out in the open. Come on, the others are waiting.”

“Waiting where?” Molly asked.

“Down there.” Caleb gestured to the grate. “The sewers. We, we have to get out of the city, and it seemed the safest path. It isn’t safe to be out in the streets, Molly, not with the people who are chasing me. Th-the fact that I was able to get even this far is nothing short of _miraculous_.”

He looked plainly terrified, stumbling and stammering and frequently darting anxious glances at the grate and the escape it apparently offered. The metal was locked into place with a heavy padlock, but nothing that Nott couldn’t pick. From there, they could lift it aside, slip down to join the others, and be well away with Caleb in tow.

Molly frowned, feeling something itch at the back of his mind. That…wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right.

“The others already went on ahead?” he asked.

Caleb nodded, motioning for Nott to go and see to the lock. She went without hesitation, kneeling down before it and pulling her picks from a pocket. _“Ja._ Not too far, though. We just wanted to get out of the inn. Somewhere under cover. _”_

“That was very smart,” Nott said, nodding without looking up.

“You locked the gate back after you?” Molly asked. A part of him desperately wanted to stop talking, to stop thinking. He didn’t _want_ anything to be out of place. Caleb was here, Caleb was _alive_ , and Molly dearly wanted that to be the end of it. And yet the part of him that counted cards, that had long ago learned to gauge alleyways at a glance to know which were shortcuts and which were deathtraps, would not be quiet, would not let him stop talking. “That’s odd.”

“I did not want any Crownsguard noticing it and looking too close,” Caleb retorted. He folded his arms tight across his chest, hugging himself, clearly uncomfortable with being questioned. And of course he was, why wouldn’t he be, he had escaped against impossible odds and he was here where he belonged and Molly kept questioning him over details that were almost certainly meaningless—

Molly stopped. Closed his eyes. Took a deep breath, and as he did so he felt his chest _throb_ with a familiar agony, so familiar that he didn’t even twitch though the taste of blood flooded his mouth. It was one of the easiest things in the world now to flare the toxic scars inside left behind by whatever had given him his powers, to let the resulting pain banish the doubts from his mind and let him focus on what was truly important.

When Molly opened his eyes again, even his vision seemed clearer, and the first thing he saw was Caleb. He knew from the look in his eyes that Caleb knew exactly what Molly had done. But he also smiled, faint but genuine, as Molly stepped closer to him again. When Molly reached out to take his hands, Caleb threaded their fingers together with no hesitation.

This close, the smell of sulfur was thick enough to choke on. When Molly stared into Caleb’s eyes, he saw absolutely nothing human looking back at him.

“Nothing I say will alleviate your suspicions, will it?” Caleb asked, still smiling. And then his smile grew wider and wider and _much too wide_ but Molly had been braced for this, had gotten a second’s warning. He shoved himself back, shoved himself _away_ , and drew his swords. “That’s impressive. I thought you would be the easiest to convince.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nott look up, roused by the sound of metal and glass. She let out a squawk of alarm at the sight of him. “What the hell are you doing?!”

The thing wearing Caleb’s face seemed utterly unbothered. It merely stretched languidly, taking full advantage of the moment of hesitation that seized Molly at the thought of attacking something which wore Caleb’s face. “Ah, well. One will be enough to start with.”

He made no spellcasting gesture and spoke no arcane word but suddenly Molly’s mind exploded in a torrent of light and noise, leaving him dizzied and confused. The world around him started to twist and warp, images painting themselves on his vision in such a rapid torrent as to leave him utterly unable to tell what was real or what wasn’t. His ears were full of howling, _screaming_.

For just a second, he was able to seize sense out of the nightmare to pick out the sound of Nott screaming.

Molly whirled around, raising his swords, and through the riot of color and twisting shapes consuming his world, he was only barely able to make it out as an enormous, blood-red, suppurating mass of ooze surged up out of the sewer grate and then slammed down to engulf Nott the Brave.

*  *  *

He wasn’t a vampire. Jester had tried to turn him and he hadn’t even winced at the light pouring forth from her holy symbol. They’d peppered him with every question they knew and he’d answered them all correctly. Jester had even cast her strongest restoration spells, in case there was some more insidious magic still controlling his mind.

Somehow, Caleb really was alive and had made his way back to them. He would not say how, beyond that it was a very long story and he’d rather they focus on getting out of the city first. They could all see the sense in that, of course, and so had settled in to work out a plan to escape Rexxentraum’s walls unseen. Caleb’s plan was for them all to get out through the sewers – not all at once, perhaps, the better to avoid making too much noise, but he was confident that he remembered the way well enough to lead them through a couple at a time. And of course, they all knew that Caleb’s sense of direction was infallible.

Beau and Yasha had dug in their heels, however, neither of them liking the idea of the group being separated even for the sake of a stealthy escape. Fjord seemed to have less of an issue with it and so was helping Caleb debate the point with them. Jester wasn’t sure which plan she favored, was feeling a little overwhelmed besides at how quickly their fortunes had changed, and so was leaving them to it while she stared pensively out the window.

So she heard it when the distant screaming started, even if she didn’t realize right away exactly what she was hearing. When it kept going, when she realized that she wasn’t imagining it, she raised her voice to be heard over her friends. “Hey, hey guys! Shut up a second! Do you hear that?”

They were quiet immediately, and she glanced back to see Beau’s eyes go wide. “That sounds like Nott,” she said, and shoved herself to her feet, starting for the door. Yasha, Jester, and Fjord were rising to follow her when Caleb’s hand lashed out to catch Beau by the wrist, stopping her dead as much from shock as anything else.

“Wait,” he stammered. “It, it could be a trap. A trick, to lure us out. We should go carefully. I could turn myself invisible, go out to see, signal you all with my wire.”

Jester saw the tension take hold of Beau’s shoulders, realized a scant second after the monk did that something more was wrong. Beau reached down to carefully but firmly pry Caleb’s hand away, and kept a hold of it once she did. “Or Nott could be in _trouble_ ,” she said, frowning at Caleb in disbelief. “Molly, too.”

“If there is a trap, sounds like it’s been sprung,” Fjord added, summoning the falchion to hand. “And it’d be safest if we were all there to deal with it.”

Caleb looked at them all in turn, worrying at his lower lip. Jester caught herself holding her breath.

Then he sighed, long and tired, and waved a hand dismissively. “Ah, well,” he said. “It was worth a try.” He smiled – it was cold, predatory, and nothing that belonged on Caleb’s face. “My little friend will make a sufficient meal for now.”

A twisting, hypnotic pattern of colors suddenly suffused the air all around them. Jester heard her friends all gasp and cry out in shock, but for a moment she couldn’t move her head to see them, her gaze was totally captured by the lights.

Then she realized that the commotion outside had grown even louder, and that steeled her will enough to screw her eyes tightly shut and shake the charm from her mind. Her eyes opened and her vision cleared in time to see Beau crack Caleb across the face. His head snapped to the side.

And then he dissolved.

The form of their friend dissolved into red ooze that Jester saw now, much too late, was tethered to a long, thin line of goo that extended out the barely-open door and down the stairs. The mass retracted, sucked back into itself and then coiling quickly back the way it had crept in. Beau snarled in frustration and rage and chased after it – Jester spared an anxious glance to where Fjord and Yasha were still staring dazedly into space and then raced after her.

The patrons in the bar downstairs definitely knew that something was happening outside – a few were crowded against the windows to watch, a few were crowded as far back from the door as they could be, and Jester heard arguments over who should call the Crownsguard as she dashed past. Up ahead, she saw Beau shoulder-check the elf blocking their way out the door. Jester quickly ducked through the new path, hot on Beau’s heels, as they emerged together into the rain.

Even in the rain, even in this part of town, at this time of day there should have been people out and about, going about their business. But the ordinary citizenry had fled, leaving the street clear but for a huge red ooze and their two wayward friends.

The ooze was swiping and battering at Nott with pseudopods extended from its body. Nott was ducking and weaving, dodging the attacks and firing her crossbow in retaliation, but her movements were slow and clumsy; she was clearly exhausted already. Molly wasn’t much help – it was clear that there was something wrong with his mind, so he would go from hacking and slashing at the monster with swords of ice and lightning, only to be apparently distracted by an enemy only he could see, racing or even teleporting over to attack empty air before managing to drag his attention back to the ooze, if he wasn’t left staring blankly into space for a few precious seconds instead.

Jester took all this in at a glance, never missing a step as she followed Beau into the fray. Beau slid seamlessly into place in front of Nott to take the next attack. Jester grabbed Nott’s shoulder, healing her even as she shoved Nott behind her as well for good measure. She’d just managed to summon the lollipop when Nott cried “look out!” from behind her. Jester whirled around in time to see Molly closing in, clearly meaning her to be his next target.

She ducked the first swing, blocked the second on her shield, ignored the third one as it caught her in the arm. The bite of ice barely registered. “Molly, _calm_ _down!_ ” she yelled, infusing the words with holy power. But she felt the spell wash over him without effect – he wasn’t being controlled or directed to attack them, it was simply that he was utterly unable to distinguish friend from foe then and there.

Knowing he’d forgive her for it later, she followed up with a swing from the lollipop that caught him soundly upside the head, hard enough to make him stagger back. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nott dart away, getting more distance for the sake of lining up a proper shot and just in case her attempt to knock some sense back into Molly didn’t take. Praying that it would, Jester turned back to see what she could do to help Beau.

Beau was raining punches and elbow strikes and kicks on the ooze even as it tried to pull her closer by a tendril around her arm, clearly meaning to engulf her. Jester whispered a prayer and a torrent of diminutive, ghostly unicorns sprang into being in the air around them, immediately moving to ravage and ransack the ooze at her mental command. She added a death knell for good measure that filled the empty streets with the sound of funeral bells, and the combined assault finally gave Beau her chance to break away and stumble back to recover.

“Light it up, Jester,” she panted, wiping a stream of blood from her mouth. “Pretty sure this thing is not a fan of fire.”

Jester’s heart sank. “I don’t think I can,” she stammered. “I, I spent all that energy healing Yasha and Nott, and—”

Beau swore viciously. “Then we need Molly.”

Jester dared not risk a glance to see if Molly was back with them. Three crossbow bolts arced between them to thunk into the ooze’s body. It quivered and shook and Jester had to fight the urge to clap her hands over her ears as an unearthly _scream_ echoed in her mind, bypassing her ears entirely. Beau suddenly went rigid, every muscle locking, a cry caught in her throat. Jester turned to try and break the spell, but before she'd gotten two words out a pseudopod lashed itself tightly around her waist and a second caught her leg to start dragging her closer to the monster instead. “Let go of me!” she yelled, tearing at it with her spirit guardians, hacking at it with her axe. Poison sizzled along its surface, but the blade itself merely grew sticky and stuck. _“Let go of me!”_ Spikes of ice jutted out from her body, stabbing into it, and she could sense the pain it was in, she knew she had done real damage, but it still wasn’t enough.

Jester felt it in her head as she was drawn closer – something eldritch and _insane_ , gibbering and clawing at the defenses of her mind, and if those walls fell she knew with a cold certainty that it would _feast_ on her. If she let it engulf her, if she was drawn inside it to be attacked from all sides, she was not at all certain her defenses would hold.

Molly appeared out of thin air beside her, both his blades blazing bright with fire. He cut and stabbed down into the thing in a whirling dervish so fast and fierce that whole chunks of the ooze were carved away to splatter pathetically onto the rainy ground where they dissolved into dark, dead stains. The monster was screaming, shrieking in true agony. As it shook and lashed against the pain, the fire hardened and deadened whatever it touched so that Jester was able to tear herself free from its grasp and get away. As Molly’s assault ceased, the monster was left quivering and diminished, clearly weakened, though probably only for a moment.

Beau managed to shake off the holding spell with a shuddering gasp. Jester felt her heart soar with relief when she heard Fjord’s voice call out from behind her: “Jester, what’s happening?!”

She looked back to see Fjord and Yasha hurrying out into the streets, weapons drawn, ready to fight. In the same instant, she heard Beau yell: “Oh don’t you dare, _don’t you dare_ — _fuck_!” Jester looked back in time to see the air shimmer and twist around the ooze as it surged into a portal that had opened in the air behind it. Molly tried to lunge after it, but the portal closed before he could take more than two steps or Jester could get more than a glimpse of whatever lay beyond.

And so the Mighty Nein were left alone there in the street, out in the rain, utterly at a loss, unable to do much more for a moment than stare at one another in shock.

“What the fuck was that?” Fjord finally asked, breaking the silence.

“That’s a good fucking question,” Beau said, before she sat down heavily right there on the ground, momentarily surrendering to exhaustion.

“It looked like Caleb,” Molly whispered, as if talking to himself.

“It did for us, too!” Jester cried, clapping her hands. “It looked like him and, and it knew everything he knew! We really did try to make sure! And—” She felt her stomach lurch with dread as she replayed the events of the last few moments in her head. “And it came right into the inn. Up to our room. When that whole time, it was connected, to, to—” She gestured helplessly at the place where the ooze had been. _“That.”_

“I’m sorry,” Yasha said, and that was such a strange thing to say that all eyes turned back to her. “I, I thought that just because they didn’t send a vampire after me, that meant I got away. I think he must have pulled Caleb back so he could send _that_ after me instead.”

“That’s not your fault,” Molly said firmly, walking over to take her hand, standing up on tiptoes to kiss her cheek. “Even getting out of there was a miracle and a half. And how could any of us have seen something like _that_ coming?”

Jester flinched as she felt a tugging on her sleeve, only to look down and see Nott. Her heart twisted in her chest at the sight of her friend – she hadn’t had time to fully process what she was seeing before, but Nott’s face was _covered_ in blood. Whatever that thing had done to her had made her bleed from the mouth, nose, eyes, even the ears.

“This is all very interesting,” Nott said, and she sounded exhausted past the point of reason. Her eyes were glassy with it. “But I have a question.”

“Of course, Nott! What is it?”

“Where are we?”

Jester, who had already opened her mouth in anticipation of answering, closed it so hard her teeth clicked together. Utterly at a loss, she cast a glance around and realized that Fjord had heard the question as well. Their eyes met, bewildered and scared, before Fjord came over to help. “What do you mean, Nott?” he asked. “We’re in Rexxentraum. We got here a couple of days ago.”

Nott’s frown grew even more pronounced. “I thought we were going to Nicodranus. To see Yussa. Why are we here? _When_ did we decide to come here?”

“You don’t remember?”

She bristled visibly. “Obviously I don’t remember or I wouldn’t be asking you that _fucking question_ , Fjord!”

By then, Yasha, Molly, and Beau had noticed that something was wrong and joined them. “That thing,” Molly murmured. “It swallowed Nott up. Just for a minute, probably not even that. I managed to see sense long enough to help her cut her way out.”

“I remember that,” Nott confirmed with a shudder.

“It kept trying to pull me and Jester in,” Beau added.

“And it kept trying to get in my head when it did!” Jester said. Comprehension dawned a scant second later – she clapped her hands to her mouth. “Oh my god.”

“Caleb didn’t know me,” Yasha whispered, right behind her. “I could see it in his eyes. I thought it was because of Trent’s control. Maybe it was because of that.”

They were prevented from either speculating further or bringing Nott up to speed by shouting coming from either end of the street. Jester looked right, then left, to see that the Crownsguard had arrived – a fair few of them, annoyingly enough, probably summoned to deal with the monster and the rampaging tiefling with scimitars. Between the two reported crises, only the tiefling was left.

“Someone should go and get our things,” Jester sighed, bringing the words of a charm spell to mind. “I’ll buy us some time.”

Molly had a rare stroke of luck with his own innate charm magic as well, and so between the two of them they were able to talk enough guards around long enough for Nott and Beau to race back inside and hastily gather up their supplies. Once they returned with assorted packs slung over their shoulders, Jester and Molly hastily made their politest excuses. Then the guards stepped aside for the Mighty Nein, heedless of the protests of the few who had remained immune, too few of too low a rank to cause a real fuss right there and then. The Mighty Nein wasted no further time before bolting down the street with no immediate destination in mind besides _away_.

By the time the magic wore off, Jester was pretty sure they’d gotten enough distance to not be worth the trouble of _immediately_ pursuing. But there was no denying the fact that they were a distinctive bunch, and word might well get around. They needed to find a place to hide and regroup, a place that a memory-eating ooze wouldn’t be able to track them to.

Somehow, the thought she dreaded most as they ran on and on was that they were going to have to explain to Nott for a second time that Caleb was worse than dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Molly gets some cool abilities as of Level 14. Among them are: "Hunter's Bane: Upon reaching 11th level, you can flare the internal toxic scars from the ritual, using the pain to give clarity, or promote anger. You can choose to suffer damage equal to your crimson rite damage die to gain advantage on a Wisdom (Insight) check or Charisma (Intimidation) check."
> 
> Meanwhile, because the Mighty Nein are not textbook kind of people - "Sulfurous Impersonation: As a bonus action, the oblex can extrude a piece of itself that assumes the appearance of one Medium or smaller creature whose memories it has stolen. This simulacrum appears, feels, and sounds exactly like the creature it imepersonates, though it smells faintly of sulfur. The oblex can impersonate 2d6 + 1 different creatures, each one tethered to its body by a strand of slime that can extend up to 120 feet away. For all practical purposes, the simulacrum is the oblex, meaning the oblex occupies its space and the simulacrum's space simultaneously. The slimy tether is immune to damage, but it is severed if there is no opening at least 1 inch wide between the oblex's main body and the simulacrum. The simulacrum disappears if the tether is severed." 
> 
> I did some research on this but couldn't find if the oblex's memory eating meant that the memories were gone for good, or until the end of a long rest. The book *seemed* to imply that it was temporary, but I don't know what other conclusion I was supposed to draw from language like "devour" and "consume" besides "memories are permanently gone", which I extended to "memories are permanently gone until the oblex is killed". So I tweaked things just a little so that this particular specimen can only use its Eat Memories ability if its engulfing a victim, rather than being able to target anyone 5 feet away as the book has it capable of doing.
> 
> I am not interested in debating these interpretations or changes, I just want you all to know what the playing field is.


	6. On the Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mighty Nein reconvenes. Fjord gathers information on Ikithon, Beau sniffs out an opportunity. Molly has bad dreams, Jester petitions for intervention, Nott and Yasha team up. And eventually, the gang goes to a party.

Eventually, they found a long-abandoned shop in one of the worse parts of town. Yasha easily cleared away some debris that had piled up in front of the back door and they all piled into a store-room that smelled of mold and rotting wood.

It wasn’t exactly a safe place to hide – there were too many windows, a door in both the front and the back for someone to get in at them. But it was quiet and deserted, so at least they would see any trouble coming, and there was enough space behind the counter for at least a few of them at a time to stay out of sight of the windows. It also wasn’t the sort of place where Crownsguard commonly tread, so at least that particular problem could probably be set aside for now. Once they all searched every nook and cranny of the place to make sure there was nothing bad hiding in wait and the roof wasn’t likely to collapse on them, once they caught their breath and stopped their hearts racing, once Jester thought to conjure up some food for them to at least fill their stomachs after hours of nonstop grief and fear, the Mighty Nein all settled down to bring one another up to speed.

The first step, of course, was to bring Nott back up to speed. Molly took point on that – it was the least he could do after she’d picked him up out of the rain. It still felt like a fresh twist of the knife in his own heart, to see her dissolve into tears all over again because the wound for her was new. He could see on the faces of the others that they felt the same. But they comforted her as if it were the first time for them, too, and eventually – after a fair few hugs and even more whiskey – Nott was calm enough to join them in planning.

After that, at least there was good news to be had. Molly relayed what Cree had told him about feeding Caleb some of Trent Ikithon’s blood to break the old man’s control over him. Jester relayed what the Traveler had told her about the means to restoring Caleb’s humanity being held by someone in the city.

“That’s not a lot to go on,” Fjord said cautiously. “You sure you can’t just, I don’t know, call him back and ask him a few follow-up questions?”

“I’m sure,” Jester said. And then, in the tone of voice of one who knew the words she was speaking to be a fundamental fact: “’There are some laws even gods must obey.’”

“Cool,” Beau said. “I guess that leaves us with trying to figure out a way to get  _blood_  from one of the most important people in the Empire so we can feed it to a vampire.”

“I mean, drinking blood is kinda what vampires do,” Jester said. “I’m sure if we just get the blood then Caleb will be happy to drink it!”

“I was also thinking,” Yasha said. “What if we found that red thing and killed it? Maybe that would give Caleb his memories back.”

Molly’s heart fluttered with a hope that he stubbornly tried to ignore. “Wouldn’t change the fact that Ikithon’s still got him on a leash.” Much as he was loathe to even confront the possibility, killing the ooze might not even return Caleb’s memories at all. They could well be gone for good, for all any of them knew, digested for the sake of letting that thing wear his face.

“We don’t know that,” Yasha insisted. “If he thought he could control Caleb without taking his memories, why would he bother?”

 _Because he’s evil_ , Molly thought dully, but didn’t say out loud.  _Because he’s an evil, possessive monster_. They all knew what Ikithon had once driven Caleb to do, but Molly was fairly certain he was the only one besides possibly Nott to know some of the other gruesome details.

“Besides,” Nott said, visibly seizing on the idea. “If we get Caleb back on our side, he still won’t be able to help us if he doesn’t remember anything! He’s the one who learned the most about vampires the last time we had to deal with them, so maybe he knows something we don’t!”

“Either way, Ikithon's got that thing tracking Yasha, maybe all of us,” Fjord added. “So if we can get it off our backs in a more permanent fashion, so much the better. I don’t fancy trying to figure out everything else we’ve gotta figure out while worrying if one of you all have been replaced with fuckin’  _goo clones_  at the same time.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Beau said, miming a toast.

Those were all good points, and so Molly felt better about keeping quiet about his own doubts as the planning wore on.

Eventually, it was decided that Fjord and Beau would go out on a fact-finding mission. Fjord would disguise himself and hang around the Cerberus Assembly hall to try and find any hint of a chance they might have to get close to Ikithon. Beau would make use of her training in both gathering and disseminating rumors to try and get some heat off of them while also getting a sense of what was going on in the city itself, if any big events were in the works. Nott and Jester would rest to recover their magic in the comparative safety of their new hideout. Molly and Yasha, being inescapably distinct and lacking any ability to disguise themselves without aid, would keep watch over the two spellcasters.

“I’m really sorry, you guys,” Jester said miserably, as she laid out her bedroll on one side of the counter.

“What for?” Molly asked, as he set up a game of Three-Dragon Ante for himself and Yasha on the other side.

“For making it so you have to keep watch over me instead of doing something important! Like helping Beau and Fjord or, or even sleeping yourselves! I feel bad that I’m the only one who needs to sleep right now.”

“I use magic, too,” Nott pointed out, bemused. “I used a couple of spells today, and I need to sleep before I get them back.”

“Yeah, but you can do lots of other stuff! Like shoot things, or make acid, or pick locks or find traps!”

“Sometimes,” Molly said. “Let’s not get carried away.”

Jester ignored him. “But all I’ve got besides my spells is, like. An axe.”

“It’s a very nice axe,” Nott pointed out.

“Thank you! Norma gave it to me. But it’s not gonna help us sneak in anywhere.”

“I mean it, though,” Nott insisted. “I really am very tired. Oh, I’m just  _so_  magically drained! I have never used as much magic in my entire life as I did today! My heist from those dastardly Tomb Takers took all my tricks!”

“Nott, you don’t even remember doing that,” Jester protested.

“I know that.” She sounded rather put out at being called out, before rallying hastily: “Molly told me, though.”

“I absolutely did,” Molly called over, never one to miss his cue and recognizing the game for what it was. “Jester, for pity’s sake, can’t you see the poor woman is exhausted? Take a nap with her so she stops feeling quite so bad about herself.”

They all laughed. It felt good, even in the midst of everything. Then Jester and Nott called their good nights over the counter, even if it was well past noon at that point. Molly heard them bedding down, getting comfortable, and finally starting to snore.

Molly reflected pensively, as he and Yasha played hand after hand, just how out of practice he was at keeping watch. They all were, and it was all because of Caleb. Even in the earliest days of their little troupe, he had faithfully strung up his silver thread night after night to cover for them if someone dozed off when they shouldn’t have. After that had come the tiny hut, perpetually comfortably warm and impervious to danger. Most recently, Caleb had finally perfected his long-standing plan of creating an extradimensional house for them – not just a house, but a  _mansion_ stuffed with food and with enough space for them all to have their own impossibly comfortable rooms and a door he could render entirely invisible to the outside world. It wasn’t a spell he could cast frequently, certainly not if they’d gotten into a rough fight that day, but over the course of day to day travels on the road it had still become a near-constant comfort at the end of the day.

And now they’d all come back to this. Molly knew it was probably an unhelpful thing to dwell on here and now. Caleb was certainly more than the comfort and safety he’d been able to provide them, and this was hardly the first night they’d had to go without it. But they’d also all grown strong enough that the road held few terrors for them, especially the well worn paths from Zadash to Nicodranus or Nicodranus to Rexxentraum. If someone dozed off and a pack of wolves or a roving band of goblins decided to try something, they’d be lucky if they lived to regret it.

But this was danger of the sort they hadn’t had to deal with in some time and – at least until Jester woke up – they had only themselves to rely on in dealing with it.

Fortunately, while they had a few tense moments over the rest of the day, it mostly took the form of going quiet and bracing themselves whenever they heard especially heavy footsteps passing too close to the front door, or Molly creeping in a half-crouch towards the backdoor to check on noises that were never anything more dangerous than a stray cat. Fjord and Beau returned just before sundown, and they returned so quietly that Molly and Yasha only realized they were there once they heard the backdoor open and shut. Molly acted entirely on instinct and blinded Fjord before he could step into the light, which forced Beau to hastily clap a hand over the half-orc’s mouth before he could cry out in alarm.

Needless to say, Jester and Nott woke quickly after that to the sounds of Molly and Beau arguing. Thankfully, Jester cheerfully reported that she was feeling entirely topped off on magic, so that took the edge off of everyone’s nerves.

“All hail the conquering heroes,” Molly said, loud as he dared, as they all sat in a circle on the main floor of the shop. “Please, regale us with your triumphant successes.”

Fjord had gotten a decent amount of time in the Assembly Hall before someone had started taking too much notice of him. “The bone a lot of folks are worrying over is that he got a new assistant not that long ago,” he said. “After the last two disappeared under  _mysterious circumstances_.”

“By which you mean were murdered,” Nott said flatly.

“Probably. What worries me is that those two assistants went by the name of Astrid Lorenz and Eodwulf Schefer.”

Silence fell with all the finality of an axe. They all knew the significance of those names. Caleb might have spared some of the more gruesome details for Molly and Nott, but they all knew the basic story. “So Caleb’s two friends are dead, too,” Nott said at last.

“He did mention he had three soldiers ready,” Yasha whispered. “I, I didn’t really think anything of it at the time.”

“You had enough to worry about,” said Molly firmly. He thought of what Cree had mentioned, about the spellslinger woman who had sent her a distress message. Maybe the two wizards hadn’t known what they were being deathmarched into until too late, and maybe even Ikithon’s conditioning hadn’t held up against the knowledge. He turned his attention back to Fjord. “So, what’s the word about the new blood, then? Any good gossip?”

“Lots. He’d been seen around Ikithon’s estate or in his office once or twice before taking over. Goes by the name of Moritz. Never went to the Academy himself. People are saying he might be a sorcerer but no one’s ever seen him pull off any really impressive tricks. I’ve heard guesses that he’s everything from a long lost relative to a bastard lovechild to the son of some noble who called in a favor to get him a leg up. No one seems like him much, though – ‘specially not the cooks or other staff. Smarmy to his superiors and cruel to anyone he can get away with being cruel to.”

Beau took over from there, giving her account of the day. “Sounds like word hasn’t gotten around yet exactly what Ikithon’s planning,” she said. “I found a lot of soldiers drinking here and there, even a couple of officers. None of them know shit about any new plans. But some Righteous Brand even got called in from the outlying towns and holdfasts where there aren’t that many of them left in the first place. They’re all pretty sure it’s to add extra security at the ball that’s coming up at the end of the month.”

“A ball?!” Jester gasped. The end of the month was less than a week away, decidedly short notice to put on such a thing.

“Just announced today,” Beau said, clearly following her train of thought. “Must have heard the announcement half a dozen times. My guess, the king’s going to announce the new plan officially there. Even vampire wizard soldiers will take money to field, especially if he’s hoping to get them right into the heart of Xhorhas in a hurry. So he’s probably hoping to wine and dine the people who still  _have_  money in the hopes that they’ll cough up some more.”

The war had been going on for a while. Molly rather suspected that the sort of people who both still had money and were willing to contribute it to this particular gristmill were getting thin on the ground. A fete to get them all fired up seemed sensible enough, or at least it probably did to kings and nobles and people of that sort. The king could have demanded money outright, but that would have weakened his grasp over the people he cared about in the long run.

“So here’s what I think,” Beau carried on, a wolfish grin coming to her face. “If this  _is_  a party to announce Ikithon’s grand plan, he’ll have to be there, right? I don’t know about you, but I don’t like the idea of just walking up to the guy and asking for some blood. I like our chances of nicking him and getting away a lot better when we’re surrounded by some jumpy nobles.”

They all nodded thoughtfully. The possibilities were definitely there – an accident with his knife at dinner arranged by Nott’s telekinesis, a quick cut from a hidden blade as one of them passed by in a crowded hall. “If we can get him bleeding, I can get the blood away from him,” Molly said. He didn’t know half the things Cree could apparently do with a vial of blood, but getting some into a container from a distance was one trick he had picked up over the last few months. “We won’t have to hold the vial right up to his face, and I don’t think we’d need  _that_  much.”

“Oh!” Jester cried, clapping her hands. “And if he’s there, he won’t be at his house, right? What if a couple of us broke in while the rest of us kept an eye on him at the party? Maybe we could find some secret notes or, or a way to fix this!”

“I like the idea of going through his drawers,” Fjord said, rubbing his chin. “Not sure I like the idea of breaking into the  _royal palace_  to injure one of the most important people in the Empire. Something tells me we won’t be on the invite list even if the Crownsguard hasn’t been given posters of all our faces.”

“We can disguise ourselves, silly!” Jester laughed. “Well—” She cast an anxious glance at Molly, Yasha, and Beau. “Most of us can. I could polymorph one of you. And, and I could buy us some really nice clothes, and forge us some invitations, too!”

Fjord shook his head, still not looking convinced. “Even if we can disguise ourselves, how do we know they won’t just have some magic shit on the front doors that’ll dispel it?”

“We don’t,” Molly admitted. “But we don’t know that they  _would_ , either.”

Beau interjected, then. “It’s one thing to have that kinda thing on the gates into the city, but I feel like the Cerberus Assembly would be pretty fucking annoyed if they had their spells and stuff dispelled every time they had to talk to the king. They’ll probably have someone who can detect shit. But that just means we have to distract the guards before they notice we’ve been detected.”

Molly felt a genuine surge of pride as all eyes turned towards him. “Leave that to me,” he said with all due certainty.

That left the matter of who would be breaking into Trent Ikithon’s mansion while the rest of them got his blood. Eventually, it was decided that Nott and Yasha would go – Nott to deal with the locks and traps, Yasha to handle any guards or guard dogs, as well as spare them the trouble of trying to disguise her.

“I really can’t guarantee that we will be able to make a quiet exit if we’re caught,” Yasha said solemnly.

Molly patted her on the back. “I would expect nothing less of you, dear.”

Then talk turned to how, exactly, Molly and Beau would be disguised.

“Seriously, Molly,” Jester said. “I could polymorph you into a human, if you wanted. Just for the night!”

“Makeup will only do so much,” Beau added, and stuck her tongue out at Molly after he stuck his tongue out at her in retaliation. “We could hide the tattoos, maybe even make you red or blue if we stuck to the face, hands, and tail.”

“You’d still probably be the only tiefling at the party,” Fjord said.

Molly had been on the receiving end of Jester’s polymorphing in the past – willingly, under very necessary circumstances, but he still hadn’t liked it. Still, he gave the matter all the consideration he could muster before eventually shaking his head. “I’d rather have the option to sweet talk my way out of trouble if it comes to it, and I can’t do that  _quite_  as well as a human.”

“That hardly ever works even when you  _can_  do it,” Beau retorted.

She was right, though Molly was loathe to admit it. Even so: “It worked today. It works  _sometimes_. I’d rather have the option and have it fail than not have it at all. It’s not like I’d get in  _that_  much more trouble if I was caught and it did fail.” Everyone seemed to take this as a fair point, so Molly hastened to add: “We’ll cover up the tattoos, I’ll take off the jewelry, I’ll be  _slightly_  less identifiable. But if you want me to be your distraction getting in the door, I should stand out a  _little_.”

“That’s true,” Jester said with a sigh. Fjord rather looked like he wanted to argue the admittedly-reasonable point that a lavender-skinned tiefling in the king’s palace would stand out rather more than a  _little_ , but Yasha shot him a look that seemed to make him decide it wasn’t worth getting into. Molly shot her a grateful look in turn, which she returned with a smile.

“Y’know, having horns can be cool,” Beau said decisively, closing the matter entirely. “I’ll go tiefling again. At least that way he won’t be the only one there.”

*  *  *

Of course, that still left them with four days until the ball in which to prepare and worry.

Jester dipped into the party’s funds to acquire new clothes, which she and Nott went out to buy. “I have a very good eye for guessing someone’s height and weight at a glance,” Nott said when Fjord asked her why, patting her alchemist’s pouch significantly.

And indeed, what she and Jester brought back was very nearly a perfect fit for all of them. In anticipation of this, Jester also brought back some needle and thread, so Molly and Yasha dipped into some long-latent costuming skills picked up from the carnival to make some adjustments. Jester even managed a minor marvel in finding a fine, floaty overskirt that Molly could wear over his pants to keep his tail at least somewhat inconspicuous while also being more likely to tear than get tugged if a fight did happen.

Fjord and Beau went out whenever they could to continue keeping tabs on the situation within the city as news of the upcoming ball spread. Fjord was able to secure confirmation that Ikithon would be in attendance at the festivities. Beau was able to overhear some rumblings of some of the security measures that would be in place on the doors, magical and otherwise. Nott and Jester both made frequent patrols of the perimeter of the castle itself, as well as Ikithon’s estate, as close as they could get without setting off traps or getting the attention of guards.

After two days, a little girl came knocking on the back door of the shop begging for shelter for the night. They were very nearly convinced before Nott caught the smell of sulfur in the air and they all hastily abandoned the hideout for a new one. Then, when the Crownsguard came knocking at the crumbling door of the ruined theater the next night, they found a third place after that in a rundown old house occupied by a gang of street kids who, in exchange for thirty gold, had given the Nein the use of the attic.

In the midst of all this subterfuge, there was very little that Molly and Yasha could contribute beyond keeping up and keeping quiet.

Molly would blame that later on for the turn his dreams took the night before the ball.

 _He watched dispassionately as the imposter kicked and struggled uselessly in the air as Cree hauled him higher and higher. Zoran, Otis, Tyffial and Jurrel were ranged behind him, laughing and jeering_.  _The hanging man’s hands clutched at the rope around his neck, tugging in a vain attempt to get air._

_He was the second to hang – the other five were lined up and waiting, heads bowed. The first body had stopped twitching a while ago, head lolling, eyes staring. Of course, that didn’t mean he was dead. But hanging killed vampires just as sure as it killed traitors – you just had to wait a little longer._

_It was a nice view from up here at the end of the world, here in the ashes of a mansion. The sunrise would be especially beautiful. It was more than they deserved. Lucien admired it for a while before a pathetic, wheezing rasp from the hanging man drew his attention back._

_“Please,” he whimpered when he saw Lucien looking, with what must have been the last air in his lungs. “Please, let them go, just take me. Let that be enough, I’m sorry, I’m_ sorry _…”_

_“You’ve gotten all the mercy you’re going to get,” Lucien said flatly, annoyed at having to listen to the other tiefling’s pathetic begging. “I’m not making you watch them die, too. I know how hard it is to lose your people, after all.” He inclined his head towards Jorrel, who simply would not stop fiddling with the ribbon that kept his head on, before jerking a thumb at the other body. “Of course, we had to string him up first, but leeches are dangerous. You should have known that. If you’d rather not choke, we can shove him over to you and he can tear your throat out instead.”_

_“Do it,” growled the woman in blue, lifting her head to glare up at the dying tiefling._

_“He deserves it,” said the fallen angel quietly._

_When Lucien looked them over, even the ones who hadn’t spoken were nodding fiercely. He shrugged airily, and moved over to the quiet vampire. “Well. Can’t say fairer than that.”_

_As easily as he might toss a sack of flour, he shoved the monster at the traitor, who had just enough time to whisper “Caleb?” before it tore his throat out._

The world  _slammed_  back into place around him as Molly’s head snapped to the side, eyes flying open.

For a long, pensive moment, all was still but for the sound of three people breathing raggedly. Slowly, Molly became aware that his cheek hurt like hell. He lifted a hand to it, winced, then slowly looked around to take in his surroundings.

Beau and Yasha were sitting nearby, both staring at him with wide, wary eyes. Yasha was massaging her hand. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s just, you wouldn’t wake up, I didn’t know what else to do.”

“S’fine,” he said, and meant it. Nothing seemed to be broken. He was very, very glad to be awake. “Thanks.” Even so, when she reached out a hand to rest over the growing bruise, he didn’t stop her, and sighed softly in relief as he felt healing magic begin to suffuse his face.

“Been a while since that’s happened,” Beau whispered.

“Sure has.” He grinned weakly. “It’s almost like it’s been a stressful few days, hasn’t it?” Beau snorted, and he chuckled. After a moment’s deliberation, he added: “Caleb was helping this—” He gestured helplessly at himself in an attempt to find the right words. “—not happen. And now he’s not here. And I know  _why_  he’s not here, which makes it even worse! And  _fuck_ , I need my fix.”

It wasn’t like this was the first stressful night he’d had since Caleb was taken, but it was the first night they were poised right on the edge of being able to  _do_ something, so maybe it was only to be expected that his mind had finally turned on him again.

Yasha took her hand away, taking the pain with it. “What do you mean?” Beau asked, glancing from him to Yasha when Yasha looked steadfastly not confused by Molly’s words. Molly didn’t know why he’d even mentioned this aloud – maybe just in the hopes of reassuring himself that that part of his life  _hadn’t_  been a dream. Maybe he just needed to vent and rage and lament how much he’d lost. It felt as if he and Caleb had only just settled into being good for each other.

Before he said anything further, he got himself comfortable leaning against Yasha’s other side, and let his eyes fall half-closed as she started to pet his hair.

“Back when we first…got together,” he said, and almost laughed again at what a pathetically inadequate way that was to describe things. “I asked Caleb if he could look into learning magic to modify memories.”

Beau made a disgusted noise. “Like Maxwell used?”

“ _Yes_ , like fucking Maxwell used. Except I wanted to see if he could use it to take out what Maxwell put in my head.”

More silence, then Beau said: “You could have asked Jester.”

Molly shook his head as carefully as he dared so as not to dislodge Yasha’s hand. “Jester took  _fake_  memories out of your heads. That wasn’t the problem, for me.”

Beau caught on with gratifying swiftness, and didn’t make him elaborate. “Oh,” was all she said instead. And then: “So if he was taking them out, why is this happening again?”

“He wasn’t. Said he wasn’t strong enough to reach that far back, yet. So he, he’d just touch up  _my_  memories instead. You can use that spell to make people remember something perfectly, did you know that?” Of course she wouldn’t have, Maxwell would never have deigned to use that magic in such a way. Molly carried on anyway. “That’s how he’d practice, usually. He’d make  _me_  remember things perfectly. Me, Molly.”

_“I know it’s not what you wanted,” Caleb had said softly after first proposing the idea. “But, ah, but perhaps, even if I can’t remove those memories for a while yet, I can make everything of yours’ seem clearer. And then maybe everything before will start to seem like just a bad dream.”_

“And, and he had to practice changing things, too, or taking them away, but he’d be so  _careful_. He always asked before he did, and he always told me what he’d changed. One time he asked me what color the flowers in the window of an inn were and I told him they were red, and he said—”

Fuck. Fuck, when had he started crying? Molly swiped a hand mercilessly across his eyes even as he hiccuped pathetically. “He said ‘no, they are blue’, and he pulled one out of his stupid book and he gave it to me.”

He’d looked so damn proud of himself as he tucked the little blossom fussily behind Molly’s ear.

“And it  _worked_ , y’know? I could remember the most inconsequentially lazy days perfectly, and they were  _my_  days. So I stopped dreaming for a while. I stopped getting tangled up into thinking I was  _him_. He saved me, and, and—” And his heart hurt  _so much_ , it felt like he was bleeding to death from the inside out and Molly pressed his hands against his chest in a vain attempt to stop the tide as he choked on a sob.

 _I miss him_ , he wanted to say, but the words stuck in his throat. He’d never  _missed_  anyone before. He already wasn’t used to losing people. It had only ever been the circus, before, and Molly had managed to kill any feeling in his heart for the first home he’d ever had as soon as he’d realized that there was no saving it. Better to feel nothing than to feel pain at being left behind. Yasha didn’t count – he never  _missed_  her. Even when she wasn’t present and he wished she was, it was always tempered with the knowledge that she would be back  _eventually_.

It was as if he hadn’t had time to miss Caleb before now, in between all the desperate racing here and there, research and bribes and hoping and fearing. It was only now, poised on the edge real, true action, that Molly could fully process how much he  _wanted Caleb here_ and couldn’t have him. He was closer than he’d been in weeks, barely halfway across the city, but he wouldn’t know Molly and wouldn’t hear any explanations Molly had to offer. Caleb was dead, Caleb was worse than dead, and Molly missed him fiercely even though that was the most singularly useless thing he could feel right now.

All these thoughts raced through his wearied mind in a second or two, and left him fumbling for something else to say. Somehow, what came out was: “I shouldn’t be dumping all of this on you. Sorry.”

Yasha tightened her arm around his shoulders, Beau actually took his hand and gave it a bone-grinding squeeze. The pain was intensely, beautifully grounding, and he shot her a grateful smile that he would categorically deny in the morning. “It’s okay,” she said gruffly. “I know.” And he was pretty sure she did.

The moment was ended by the sound of movement. They all tensed on instinct, but it was only Jester, sitting up and yawning hugely. Molly immediately felt a stab of guilt. “Sorry, dear,” he said. “Did we wake you?”

“It’s okay,” she said, smiling wearily at them all. Then she got to her feet, dusted herself off, and started for the ladder. “I just need to go outside for a minute. Y’know. For  _lady needs_.”

Molly laughed. Beau rolled her eyes. “Just scream if anyone jumps you,” she said.

“I will!”

They relaxed by degrees once Jester left and silence returned. Eventually, with no words spoken, Molly settled down to try and sleep again. After Beau and Yasha exchanged a few murmured words, his best friend settled in beside him. 

*  *  *

Beau, Molly, and Yasha hadn’t wanted to tell her what was wrong, but Jester wasn’t stupid. She’d been able to make a pretty good guess. It only left her feeling more certain of what she was about to do - the thought of what was to come with the next night was so impossibly terrifying, after all. They needed all the help they could get.

She slipped down the ladder and padded noiselessly through the room of sleeping children, with the aid of a trickster’s blessing to ensure that her steps were truly silent. She ducked outside, closing the door carefully behind her, then stepped back just enough to consider the roof.

Really, climbing up there wasn’t too hard. The wood was old and crumbling and offered plenty of handholds even as it offered plenty of splinters. The windowsill gave her a good point to push off from. After not long at all and only a couple of near misses, she balanced easily on the roof under the light of the twin moons.

Then she sat cross-legged, pulled out her holy symbol, and cradled it to her chest.

“I know I’m not supposed to do this a lot,” she said. “I, I know you like it when I figure things out and do things on my own. And I like doing that, too! I like making you proud of me. But I’m really scared. We’re all really scared. And we all want Caleb back so much. I know you do, too! I know you like him a lot. So, um, so if you could maybe do something to help us,  _really_  help us, just this once…that’d make me really happy.”

He had only ever intervened directly once before, since giving her permission to petition him for direct aid. She knew that he might well refuse to intervene again, despite how dire things felt. It didn’t mean he didn’t love her. It just meant that there were some rules even gods had to obey, and he had to be especially careful because he wasn’t as strong yet as he could be.

 _“And if I could give you more direct aid,”_  he murmured in her ear, making her heart jump.  _“What would you ask of me?”_

He tucked a stray strand of her hair back into place and rested his other hand over hers’ and against her holy symbol. Jester felt warmth and a sense of support and safety floor her body, emboldening her to speak. The worst he could say was “no”, after all. And if he did, well, she’d deal with it.

“I know you already gave me a hint about there being someone in the city who could make Caleb human again. And that was really nice of you! But I haven’t really had time to figure out who it could be with all the running away and getting ready to be sneaky we’ve been doing. Still, I was thinking, if someone has magic like that, they’re probably pretty powerful and important, right? So even if they’re not at this party, maybe someone at the party will know about them. And even when we’re there I’m gonna have to work really hard to keep everybody safe and help us all get some of Ikithon’s blood. So I was wondering, if there’s a way at the party for me to find out who’s got that super special magic to help Caleb…could you please help me find it?”

He was quiet for a time, for so long that she almost started to give up hope. Then he chuckled, low and fond, and kissed her cheek.

 _“Only because you asked so nicely,”_ he said.  _“And only because I have grown really rather fond of Caleb Widogast. But really, Jester, if you want to fix this, all you have to do is be yourself tomorrow night. Be a comforting ear to those that need you. Say what needs to be said, and encourage others to do the same. You might find that you hear something rather interesting as a result.”_

It was more than she’d dared hope for. She held his hands tightly in hers’ and thanked him so profusely in Common and Infernal both, promising she’d make and spread as many pamphlets as her arms could carry. He only laughed, patted her hands, and told her to go back inside and go to bed.

Molly and Yasha were asleep again by the time she made her way back up and into the attic, with only Beau on watch. She steadfastly refused to give up her shift when Jester offered, ordering her back to bed as well. That was fine by Jester, in the end. She was pretty sure she’d actually be able to sleep again.

*  *  *

They spent most of the next day playing cards with one another, playing for copper pieces and traded watch shifts, bits of ribbon and pretty buttons. Most of the group cheated shamelessly with varying degrees of success. Beau and Nott argued fiercely over a folded flush, with Nott pulling out insults that Molly had never heard before but would absolutely take care to remember for later. Molly, meanwhile, stared Jester right in the eyes as she flicked an ace out of her sleeve and she didn’t so much as blink. Yasha put up a good showing by virtue of having the kind of poker face even Molly couldn’t decipher, but Fjord wound up taking most of the pot by the time they noticed the afternoon was wearing on and they should start getting ready.

Yasha and Nott were spared having to do much beyond retrieving a couple of their old camouflage cloaks from Jester’s bag. Then they retired to a corner with Nott laying out her thieves’ tools, stolen scrolls, and maps she’d drawn of Ikithon’s estate over the past few days. Yasha listened attentively as the little goblin set forth instructions and plans, and Molly had no doubt she’d do her damndest to make sure those plans went smoothly.

Molly, Jester, Fjord, and Beau helped one another with their outfits, wrestling with tricky buttons and fiddly laces, coats and waistcoats and stockings and skirts. Molly regretfully surrendered his scimitars to the depths of Jester’s bag only after she put her axe in there as well. It was eventually decided that Beau could keep her staff as long as no guards actually tried to take it off of her.

Molly even more regretfully undid every chain, piercing, and band from his ears and horns, setting each piece in one of his coat’s inner pockets before he bundled up the coat and tucked that into the bag as well. Then, to add insult to injury, he sat still while Jester carefully applied makeup to cover up his tattoos. Most of them weren’t visible – she’d gotten him a shirt with sleeves that buttoned at the wrist and a tunic that tied at his throat. But that still left the peacock feather and the snake’s head to deal with.

When she offered to fetch a mirror so he could check her work, he shook his head without saying anything and she seemed to understand.

“That looks stupidly uncomfortable,” Beau said to him conversationally, once Jester moved away to help Fjord with his boots. “Can you even lift your arms all the way?”

Molly made an attempt. The fabric put up a truly irritating amount of resistance if he tried to reach past his shoulders. “No.” Adopting a haughty sort of voice, he added: “ _Our sort_  of people don’t trouble ourselves with that sort of thing.”

Beau burst out laughing, then made a face. “Don’t  _do_  that, you actually sound like you mean it.”

“Perish the thought.”

She punched him in the shoulder, which he acknowledged that he deserved. “But seriously, if it comes to a fight, I can tear those right off.”

“Thank you. I’ll probably take you up on that.” Beau was usually the first person he grouped up with in a fight if Caleb was somewhere safe. After all this time, they’d worked out a system to back one another up. And, as annoying as Beau could still be sometimes, Molly was glad of that.

At last, all was prepared that could be and the Mighty Nein gathered together again. Nott and Yasha would be leaving first. “I really wish I could hug you right now,” Molly sighed, helping Yasha with her cloak. “But I’d probably smudge the bloody makeup.”

Yasha smiled, rested a hand on his shoulder, and ever-so-delicately kissed his forehead instead. “It’s going to be okay, Molly,” she murmured. “I promise. This is going to work.”

And when Yasha said it, Molly could almost believe it. “Good luck out there,” he said.

“And to you. I’ll see you soon.”

Molly could see that Nott had just gotten done getting fussed over by Fjord and Beau. “And you!” he said to her, theatrically stern, as Jester brushed past him to lay a blessing on Yasha. “You take care of her, or I swear to whatever god is listening that I’ll throw all your buttons in a river.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Nott said primly. “Because I know where you sleep.” Her expression went somber, all teasing faded, and she said: “I’ll take care of her. You take care of everyone too, all right?”

Molly nodded. “I will.” A renewed understanding passed between them, unspoken but no less real. They’d been laughing and joking and giving each other grief all day because they’d well and truly snap under the pressure if they didn’t. But there was no escaping the fact that this, all of this, was for the sake of getting Caleb back, maybe even getting him human again. His life, his  _soul_ , rested on their joint success tonight. And no matter what they did to blow off steam, now that the fateful night had arrived, his friends would treat that fact with all the solemnity it deserved.

Nott and Yasha left first. They slipped down the ladder and out of the hideout and into the night, making their way towards Trent Ikithon’s estate with Jester’s blessing to quiet Yasha’s steps. The rest gave the two of them a thirty-minute head start before they also left the hideout and made their way towards the palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When my beta read Molly's dream sequence and the conversation that came after it, they declared "Molly doesn't need memory magic, Molly needs therapy." They're not wrong in the slightest, but in the meantime, Molly will do the best he can with what he's got. 
> 
> Also, how about another round of High Level Corner?
> 
> "Divine Intervention: Beginning at 10th level, you can call on your deity to intervene on your behalf when your need is great.
> 
> Imploring your deity's aid requires you to use your action. Describe the assistance you seek, and roll percentile dice. If you roll a number equal to or lower than your Cleric level, your deity intervenes. The DM chooses the Nature of the intervention; the effect of any Cleric spell or Cleric domain spell would be appropriate. If your deity intervenes, you can't use this feature again for 7 days. Otherwise, you can use it again after you finish a Long Rest."
> 
> Jester followed up on her Divination spell from a few chapters back and petitioned the Traveler to clearly flag anyone at the party who would know the information she needs so she can go to work, and he decided he'll oblige.


	7. Dancing Partner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nott and Yasha meet some unexpected company on their way into Trent's mansion. Jester makes a new friend and mistimes a spell. Fjord makes an opportunity, Beau teaches Molly to dance, and Molly makes a desperate gamble to ensure the plan goes as it should.

“Oh for  _ fuck’s _ sake,” Nott whispered, facepalming. 

The green dragonborn startled violently at the sound of her voice, muffling an undignified yelp. He looked around wildly before he spotted her and Yasha. The two of them were staring fixedly at his attempts to creep across the grounds from the walls towards the mansion proper and, coincidentally, to where they themselves were hidden.

Yasha laid a hand meaningfully on her sword hilt as soon as she was sure they had his attention. “Who are you?” she asked, letting a growl creep into her voice. 

He sputtered before pointing at them. “Who are  _ you _ ? The fuck are you doing here, don’t you know who’s house this is?”

“Don’t  _ you?! _ ” Nott snarled back. “Who do you think you are, trying to rob someone like Ikithon alone?!”

Yasha laid a heavy hand on the top of Nott’s head, and the goblin obligingly fell silent. “I think,” she said. “We should let him come a little closer, so we don’t wake whoever is in the house by shouting.”

Nott folded her arms, grumbling, and Yasha felt her ears twitch in agitation beneath her hood. “He started it.” But she lowered her crossbow and permitted the dragonborn to make his way safely into their little patch of shadows unwounded. 

“All right,” he whispered, once they were all huddled much too closely behind the bush and under the window. “What are you two doing here, then?”

“Robbing the place,” said Nott easily. “Just like you, I’d imagine.”

He did not seem any more pleased by this revelation than they were. “Well,” he said with a huff. “Just don’t get in my way. I’m after more important things than candlesticks and silver, anyway. Much too dangerous for the likes of you.”

Yasha felt Nott bristling beside her. “Now who do _you_ think you are?!” she snapped, her voice rising steadily until Yasha laid a hand on her head again. 

Yasha, meanwhile, simply sighed. “You haven’t answered my question,” she said to the dragonborn. “Who are you?”

He immediately looked wary, gaze darting left then right. “Don’t see how that matters.” Then he flinched visibly as Yasha drew just an inch of steel free from its sheathe, swallowed, and said sullenly: “Tyffial. Tyffial Wase. At your service, I s’ppose.”

Yasha was just opening her mouth to reply in kind, not seeing the harm in it, when Nott outright  _ groaned _ and facepalmed again. “Yasha,” she hissed. “I think he’s with the fucking Tomb Takers!”

Tyffial and Yasha both froze as this sank in. Yasha was just about to ask Nott if she was sure, when Tyffial betrayed the truth of her words well enough by baring his teeth. “Hold on. You’re with the bloody Mighty Nein, aren’t you?!” 

“And what does that matter?!” Nott hissed back. “There’s two of us and only one of you! So you’d better be the one staying the fuck out of _our_ way!”

“Fat chance! I don’t know what Lu—what  _ whoever he is _ has got you both doing here, but  _ we’re _ actually trying to do some good work!” 

Yasha held up a hand to forestall the argument, and the two thieves fell silent with a gratifying speed. They waited for the span of a few heartbeats and, just as she thought Tyffial was going to snap again, they all heard the sound of a window creaking open from two stories up. They saw the light of a lantern moving in a lazy spiral over the grass as someone – maybe a servant, maybe a guard – scanned the vicinity for the source of the noise.

At last, hopefully deciding that they’d just heard some noisy dogs, the light retreated and the window closed. 

“I think,” said Yasha very quietly, hating the words even as she said them. “We should help one another.” She held up a hand again as they both started to argue, and they both cut themselves off. “I believe that, in this, we are united in our purpose. We both want information, don’t we? And there is also a beast we seek to slay tonight. If we don’t, and he catches word of you—” She inclined her head towards Tyffial, who gulped. “—it will come for you all as well, soon enough. As for what is to be done with the vampires, that is beyond us. That is for Mollymauk and Cree to decide. This might be our only chance to help each other.”

You didn’t have to like the people you shared a hunting party with. You just had to accept that you were both one another’s best chance of getting to eat that day, and trust them just enough to not put a knife in your back when no one was watching. Since she had Nott to watch out for her, and planned to do the same for her friend, Yasha felt that they could trust Tyffial that far solely by virtue of his own self-preservation instincts – if he had them at all, of course. He’d come here alone, so that wasn’t actually a guarantee. 

Sure enough, she saw that he was still looking stubborn. Yasha drew her greatsword another inch free. “Or I could kill you now,” she said easily. “But killing people tends to be very noisy. Especially how I do it. So I’d rather not.” 

At last, though still reluctantly, he nodded. Nott, clearly having been waiting for him to agree first, finally mumbled an assenting sort of noise.

Yasha let out a breath and returned her blade properly to its sheathe. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.” Then she gave Nott a boost up onto the windowsill so her partner could start picking the lock. 

*  * *

“—have never been so insulted in all my life!” Molly was shouting, as three guards tried to drag him away from the puddle of fake vomit on the lawn. Their boots crunched over the shells of firecrackers which had made an almighty mess of the grass and set a duchess’ hat on fire. Of the Nein, Molly was dressed comparatively subtly - black pants, black tunic, white shirt, silvery overskirt to keep his tail out of the way, and a stupid red sash over one shoulder. The boots were the only part of the ensemble he actually liked - the leather was fine and supple and had a very pretty reddish tinge to it.

He'd made a hell of a nuisance of himself anyway, despite his comparatively subdued attire, and so all eyes in the immediate vicinity were on him. “Where is your superior?! I’ll have you know my father is the king’s third nephew twice removed and he will have your head for this!” 

Over the shoulder of one of the gate attendants, Molly saw the second one watching the scene with wide-eyes. The stunned looking woman hastily waved through a dark-skinned elf, a red-skinned tiefling, and an older human man, completely ignoring the way the detection crystal over her head flared at their presence. Molly let out a mental sigh of relief and stopped fighting just enough to let himself be easily dragged. It didn’t take much – he wasn’t especially strong and, after only about a minute and a half of causing a ruckus, the guards  _ desperately _ wanted him out of their sight and hair. “Fuck you all and the hippogriffs you rode in on!” he called for good measure, as he was shoved out the gates and prodded down the street and away from the palace with the butts of a couple of spears. 

Molly made a dramatic show of succumbing reluctantly to the prodding, walking away with his head held high even as he fussed with his clothes. He did not look back – that would only persuade them to keep looking. But he made it to the end of the lane, turned the corner, and counted to one hundred. 

When he peeked back around, the guards had gone back to their posts – there was a crowd of people far more important than one drunken idiot to corral tonight.   Good. That was just how Molly preferred it.

He made a wide circuit of the walls, seeking a spot where the patrols seemed to overlap less often. Even that took longer than he would have liked, longer than he knew they'd prepared for, and Molly was forced to go slow and backtrack more than once until he found a likely looking entry point. Next, his clothes gave him trouble in actually getting over the wall. His tight, restrictive sleeves kept him from climbing a nearby tree as nimbly as he normally could. He fell once nearly fell twice more before he tore the stupid sash off his shoulder and used it to help him ascend. Things were easier, after that - he was used to jumping long distances in very tight pants, and even executed a springing flip onto the top of the walls that would have made Gustav proud. Molly resisted the impulse to bow to an invisible crowd until he’d lowered himself back down to the ground on the other side, once again safely within the grounds. 

His goal was the servant’s entrance, which had even less of a guard presence on it but was still crowded with people bustling in and out. Molly approached a couple of them, acting the part of “friendly stupid drunk” rather than “belligerent entitled drunk”. So terribly sorry, you see, but he’d just seen an ex of his in line and they’d parted under the most humiliating circumstances! Could they possibly let him slip in through here so as to avoid her notice? Of course he was invited, here was his invitation. Ah, thank you ma’am, you are a saint and a treasure, here’s three gold for your trouble and for your friend as well, and of course for this sweet little one, too…

Within short order, and newly in possession of a hot almond cake, Molly slipped into the grand hall behind two chattering ladies. Then he stepped hastily out of the path of the procession of people, the better to take in the scene. 

The middle of the hall had been reserved for dancing, where several couples were already swirling in stiff, stately, elegant patterns. Several small tables had been set up along the edges of the hall near the doors, with larger tables clustered closer to the back, at the base of the dais where the king’s throne normally sat. It now held a long table as well, where King Bertrand was holding court over several doubtlessly important people. Servants circulated deftly throughout the proceedings bearing serving trays of drinks and snacks.

Molly stifled a yelp and almost choked on the last of his cake when someone grabbed his arm and drew him further towards the corner. Looking around wildly, he finally relaxed at the sight of Beau – red-skinned, horned, newly in possession of a dick tucked into her fancy pants, but still basically, recognizably Beau.

“What the fuck took you so long?” she hissed, with a wide, bright smile painted on her face for the benefits of passersby. She was dressed in a green and silver overcoat over a grey shirt, with a cravat tied at her throat. Her boots were what most people would probably consider a sensible height, her pants were brown and quite tight on her current form, though Molly knew that she would regain some of the freedom of movement she was used to once the polymorph wore off. 

Molly patted her arm. “Had some trouble finding a good spot to get back over the walls. I’m here now. What have I missed?”

“ _ Trouble _ . I was afraid they’d got you or something!” She steered him to look back over the hall, then pointed out three figures as discreetly as she could. “Trent brought his pet projects to the show!”

It took Molly a second to realize what she was saying, to pick three specific figures out of the mess of brocade and bodies and silk. Then he did, and his heart sank. Oh.  _ Oh _ . 

They were dressed comparatively conservatively in heavy military attire. Their clothes covered them from neck to ankle, along with hoods that didn’t allow so much as a stray strand of hair to be seen. Each one wore a golden half-mask that covered everything above the mouth, fashioned in the shape of a wolf. He couldn’t see their faces, but he didn’t have to – they stood out plainly enough, and moved with a predatory, inhuman grace that made his instincts buzz. They were stopping when addressed, speaking when spoken to, but that didn’t mean anything besides the fact that they’d been ordered to behave and play nice tonight. He knew what they were. He knew  _ who _ they were. 

“All right,” he whispered. His voice was just an octave too high, betraying his nerves much as he tried to pretend otherwise. “Well, here’s the good news. That means they’re not keeping watch on his estate, either.”

“Because they’re keeping watch on  _ us! _ ”

“No, they’re not. Not  _ yet _ . We belong here, remember? We are esteemed, invited guests. As long as we keep it that way, this doesn’t have to be a problem.” Beau still didn’t look convinced, so he tried to drag her attention away from the potential danger. “Where are the other two?”

She was able to answer that easily enough. “Jester found an opening to talk to one of the Cerberus Assembly guys.” She motioned towards one of the longer tables at the base of the dais, where Jester was deep in conversation with an elven woman – this one had short brown hair and was dressed in green and black robes. “Fjord actually got a seat at the fucking high table. Don’t ask me how. I think he’s just bullshitting his way through a military history and obviously that’s playing really good tonight.” Sure enough, Molly looked and saw that a chair had been dragged up to the table for the disguised half-orc. He wasn't dressed in quite such an aggressively military fashion as the vampires were - there was more decoration to it, illusionary medals and a silken half-cape to adorn the sort of stiff, buttoned attire that a colonel might wear when attending to his superiors. Fjord was well away from the king, of course – but surprisingly, not  _ too _ far from Trent Ikithon even if, as far as Molly could tell from this distance, the old man seemed to be studiously ignoring him. 

“Soon as Fjord thinks he’s got him good and distracted,” Beau said. “Jester’s going to try to dominate one of the people on either side of him, see if she can ‘accidentally’ cut him with something.” 

“Which means I need to be closer,” Molly murmured.

“Sure do. Want me to dance you over there?”

Molly actually sputtered, his brain screeching to a halt for a moment. “I’m  _ sorry _ ?”

She rolled her eyes and punched his shoulder. “You can’t just go walking over there towards where the  _ king _ is sitting! That’s not how these kinds of people do things! They are not straight line kind of people. No one knows you, so you’d have all eyes on you inside of thirty feet if you tried to just walk over there.”

Molly had no idea if she was right but she certainly  _ sounded  _ as if she knew what he was talking about. And, well, what could it hurt? So after a moment’s reluctance, he nodded and held out a hand. “I  _ sincerely _ hope you know how to lead.” 

“Probably not, but I can fake it.” She grinned, took his hand, and towed him onto the dance floor. 

Whether from natural grace, time spent watching the dancers, or both, Beau did turn out to be an adept lead. She steered him gracefully through the crowd of nobles, and if he heard her counting the beats under her breath, at least probably no one else did over the music. 

“You know,” he whispered. “We still stand out like a couple of sore thumbs.” They were the only two tieflings at the party, after all – maybe sticking together hadn’t been the best idea.

She seemed to read his mind, however, and shook her head. “They’ll expect us to stick together,” she murmured back. “Y’know. Keep to our own ‘kind’. It’ll set them at ease – that way we’re easier to keep an eye on, not off causing trouble or seducing daughters.”

“That they know of.”

Her grin returned, flashing across her face. “That they know of.” But then her expression went somber once more. “Hey, you gonna be okay?”

“Define ‘okay’.”

“I mean, I can’t actually tell which is which, but one of those masked guys is Caleb. Probably actually the  _ real _ Caleb. Are you gonna be okay?” 

It was the exact thought he’d been trying not to look too closely at since she’d pointed the vampires out. Caleb was  _ here _ and closer than he’d been in  _ weeks _ and yet he wouldn’t know Molly if he laid eyes on him. Caleb was  _ here _ and yet he was a monster under the command of the one who had ruined his life.

“I’m not okay with any of this,” he whispered back. “But I’m here for you all. I’m going to do my part so we can get this done. Caleb will thank us for it later.”

She smiled, genuine and fond. “Good answer.” Then she leaned forward to bump their horns together – it had taken her a few times, a few transformations, before she’d been able to perfect how to do so without headbutting him or Jester outright. But she’d mastered it now and Molly actually felt his throat get a little tight at the gesture of affection. It soothed him instinctively.

Fortunately, Beau spared him from having to continue making eye contact with her while feeling actually moved by something she’d done. She simply gave him one last spin, letting him go at the same moment so he stumbled to a stop safely on the other side of the dance floor. When he looked back, he just barely caught a flick of her tail before she was gone back into the crowd. 

Molly took a deep breath and smoothed his sweating hands over the front of his expensive tunic.  _ Well, all right then. _

“Louis!” Jester called, before he’d gone too far one way or the other. He remembered just in time that this was his name for the night, then looked over and saw her waving him towards an empty seat on the opposite side of the elf from where she sat. “Come here! You absolutely  _ must _ meet Lady Vess!”

Grateful for some direction, Molly took the invitation immediately, walking over and sliding into the seat beside the wizard, then taking a minute to examine her as Jester made introductions.  

*  * *

Lady Vess DeRogna was a bookworm through and through, the sort of person who tolerated official functions out of necessity but well and truly  _ hated _ parties.

Jester could not relate, but she could certainly sympathize. She could especially sympathize, in fact, because as soon as she’d first laid eyes on the elven woman, the Traveler had flickered into view behind her for just a minute and winked one verdant green eye. 

And so, as she’d been instructed to do, Jester had made herself a sympathetic ear for the out-of-place wizard and, through gentle encouragement and subtle sleight-of-hand, had gotten DeRogna drunk enough that she felt comfortable saying what was  _ really _ on her mind. Her attire for the night - a sapphire blue gown, edged with gold, that left her shoulders bare and flattered her waist before flaring out around her feet - was drawing a few stares, and she'd gotten several offers to dance. But Jester had ignored them all and stayed focused on the mission at hand. No one here was anyone she wanted to dance with. 

As a result, she had indeed heard some  _ very  _ interesting things.

“This artifact has been in the Assembly’s possession since its  _ founding! _ ” DeRogna was saying, speaking in a loud whisper. “We swore that it would only be used in times of great crises for the Empire. We vowed that we would happily sacrifice our own power, our own  _ lives _ , in that were the case. But this…this isn’t that, is it? The war isn’t going so badly. Certainly not so badly that we couldn’t negotiate some sort of end. To use  _ that _ to end it, it’s, it’s pre-emptive!”

“Absolutely!” Jester said, nodding emphatically and refilling DeRogna's cup again.

Still, it was a mercy when she finally saw Molly stumble out of the crowd on the dance floor. Jester couldn’t keep talking to DeRogna  _ and _ cast her spell unseen at the same time, and Fjord had already loudly attempted to signal her twice. Fortunately, Molly seemed to understand what she was guiding him to do without much more than a few significant glances and emphasized words on Jester’s part. He took over talking to the wizard while Jester hastily made her excuses about going to powder her nose.

Rather than leaving the hall, she ducked into a shadow cast by a curtain, pulled her magic wire out of an inner pocket, and whispered into it. “Okay, okay, I’m ready! You can stop coughing now!”

_“Thank you, thank you_ ,” she heard Fjord say in response. _“Oof, that really did go down the wrong pipe. You really did just surprise me, Master Ikithon_. _”_

Fjord’s words cut off. Jester bit back a sigh and twirled the wire again.  _ “—can annihilate the  _ entirety  _ of Xhorhas with this artifact of yours’, that’s, uh, that’s really quite impressive, I’ve never heard the like.” _

Jester’s heart lurched and she was forced to stifle a gasp. If Ikithon or anyone said anything in reply, she couldn’t hear it, even if her ears were suddenly straining for any glimpse of any word from the high table. She could see them from here, but any noise reached her ears as indistinct chatter, entirely useless. With shaking fingers, she twirled the wire again. “We’ll need to catch each other up later, Fjord. But who should I hit?”

_ “Yes, Lord Harthold, you’ve been very kind so far, and may I complement you on that lovely black dinner jacket—” _

Black dinner jacket. The one on the right of Ikithon. Fjord had apparently decided that, between the two on either side of their target, he was the weakest willed. Jester would have to trust his judgment.

“Traveler protect me,” she whispered, and felt herself vanish, fading out of side and into the safe embrace of the shadows. It would only last a handful of seconds, however, and so she hastily whispered the words of her spell, flinging her mind and her will from herself and into the hapless lord. 

_ The force of the magic made both her bodies stagger and sway. Jester closed her eyes and opened his, finding that she’d been just about to faceplant into his bowl of stew. “Are you all right, dear?” asked a woman on her right, resting a hand on her arm.  _

_ “I’m fine!” she said, and then: “Oh, oh! No, I’m not fine! Oh, the pain!” She clutched at her stomach. “Were there oysters in this soup? I’m so terribly allergic to oysters! Oh!” She swayed violently and, as concerned murmurs started to spread throughout their side of the table, Ikithon made a disgusted noise and started to get up, to move away from the man clearly about to be sick.  _

_ In her pretense at pained flailing, Jester closed her fingers around the steak knife in passing. The next time she pretended to spasm, she let her arm lash out and draw the blade in a long, shallow cut along the old man’s arm. _

She closed his eyes and opened her own, feeling a full-body twitch shudder through her as she ended the spell and returned fully to her body, finding once she did that she was visible again. Her gaze immediately focused back on the high table and the tumult there – Ikithon enraged at the injury, her hapless target pleading ignorance, his wife defending him, others setting up a hue and cry and gasp at such a display. This time, she was able to hear Fjord as he shouted over the din. “A healer! I’ll go and get a healer!” It was an excuse to start making his escape, as the rest of them would soon need to make theirs’.

But all the while, Jester stared desperately at the ribbon of red blood trailing down Ikithon’s arm, dripping down his arm to his hand and then falling from his fingertips…

…to stop  _ just shy _ of hitting the carpet.

Jester let out her breath in a heavy sigh of relief as she saw the bit of blood start to drift through the air like a stormcloud, a scant inch above the carpet, easily missed as it swirled down the steps of the dais and towards the table where she’d left Molly and DeRogna, where she knew Molly had an open flask waiting. Unable to suppress a giddy smile – she could scarcely believe they’d done it – Jester twirled her wire once, twice, three times, each to signal her friends throughout the hall that it was time to go. 

She stepped out of her hiding place and turned towards the big double doors, only to feel a chill race up her spine and a cold, cold gaze focused on the back of her neck. 

Turning around took a supreme effort of will, but when she did so, Jester noticed immediately that a hooded figure in a wolf mask was staring fixedly at her from the other side of the room.

*  * *

Molly barely had time to feel satisfied as he corked the vial of blood, hands hidden safely under the table and thus entirely unnoticed by his drunken dinner companion. A scant second later, Jester’s voice was whispering in his ear again, this time sounding high-pitched and panicked. 

_ “—see me! Oh, Traveler, they know I did something wrong! Molly, get out of there, one of them might have seen you, too!” _

“Excuse me,” Molly said, shooting to his feet and uncaring if DeRogna excused him or not. He looked around wildly, seeking out the others in the crowds. The commotion at the high table had drawn a fair few eyes, even lured a few dancers off the floor in the hopes of getting a look at the ruckus. Others were studiously pretending to ignore it or else hadn’t heard in the vastness of the room. The band hadn’t so much as missed a note. Still, Molly was able to see Jester, making her way through the room and past the people as quickly as she could without attracting any more attention.

He could also see the vampire stalking after her, cutting through the scattered clusters of people like a hot knife through butter because anyone who noticed them coming hastened to get out of their way. They weren’t running, not making a true fuss  _ yet _ , though he didn’t doubt a fuss would result as soon as they had her in hand. But here and now, they cared about not causing an actual panic. They’d probably been ordered to.

That gave Molly a terrible, stupid idea.

He started moving to intercept the vampire.

By all the grace and glory of the Moonweaver, he got one bit of luck along the way. He caught sight of Beau in the crowd, trying to make her way towards him. Molly met her gaze without breaking stride, shook his head meaningfully, and then quickly lobbed the vial to her. A few heads turned at the movement, but it all happened too fast for any of them to have possibly understood what he’d done.  Beau, meanwhile, reacted with all the grace and swiftness he’d come to expect from her. Catching the vial out of the air didn’t even seem to be a conscious action – her hand just moved, fast enough to blur, and it was in her hands. She looked at it, looked at him, then seemed to understand. She nodded, stowed it in a pocket, and then turned and disappeared into the crowd. He would trust that she could make her own escape.

Heedless of rudeness or propriety, Molly was actively shoving his way past people now, gaining ground on the vampire just as they gained ground on Jester. They and he were both cutting across the dance floor now, while Jester made her way around the edge, towards the only unguarded doors out of the hall. 

Just before the vampire could get a clear shot at her, Molly grabbed their wrist, spun them around, pasted the brightest smile he could muster on his face and called on the strongest power of his blood.

“May I have this dance?”


	8. Hello Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yasha, Nott, and their new friend delve deep into Trent's laboratory and uncover some grim secrets. Molly has a dance with a vampire, then finds himself introduced to the culprit behind a great many of his woes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG AUTHOR'S NOTE WARNING: This chapter ends on a sexual assault in the form of forced kissing, and the next chapter will involve much the same. If you need to skip it, then a good point to bow out is when Moritz leads Molly into the parlor. You should be able to pick things up pretty well in the next chapter from there, though I will provide a recap after the next chapter of events just in case.

One servant heard them creeping through the house but was so distracted by the sight of Yasha and Tyffial that she didn’t notice Nott. And, before she could think to draw in a breath and scream, Nott leapt onto her back and clamped a rag soaked with  _something_  sharp-smelling over her mouth, something which made the human sway and pass out. They left her in a closet to keep her from getting tripped over and, after a moment’s consideration, went and found a couch cushion to rest her head on.

One guard found them rummaging around Trent’s study, but Tyffial let out a short snarl and Yasha saw a bit of blood start to ooze from under some of his scales. The guard went rigid, a cry locked in his throat, and Nott and Yasha needed no further prompting to tie him up, gag him, and shove him in another closet.

Everything in the mansion seemed much too mundane to have been involved in the experiments to produce the vampires and the ooze monster. Even the rooms that Trent obviously used were too normal, too clean, and Tyffial said that the blood ritual involved a large, etched, obvious magic circle anyway. “He’ll have secret passageways,” Nott said, arms folded, nodding sagely. “Into hidden rooms where he does his dark business.”

This was a sensible enough assessment that they could all agree was likely. That just left the matter of finding said passageways and rooms. It was a big mansion, Nott only had so much knockout gas, Tyffial only had so many blood maledicts, and they all only had so much rope, which meant they only had so much time to work. Yasha in particular quickly found herself frustrated – running her hands methodically over walls and under bookshelves, fussing with the hanging of paintings, was not anything she was good at focusing on.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tyffial pull a bottle off his belt and down the contents.

Five minutes later, he was scurrying over to her to tell her that he’d found the way down into the basement. The door was, illogically enough, located on the third floor and hidden by a section of wall that looked, to Yasha’s eyes, entirely like the sections of wall on either side of it.

“Does that potion let you see through walls?” Nott whispered eagerly as she led the way down the winding spiral stairs.

“My potions let me do a great many things,” said Tyffial, his snout tilted proudly in the air. Yasha was just behind him, and her own darkvision let her see that the potion had affected him in other ways. There was a sickly black and yellow cast to his scales, now. When he glanced back at her she saw that his eyes had gone red-rimmed and runny, and his tongue had swelled so that it lolled slightly out of his mouth. He looked faintly feral and more than a little deranged, but spoke and acted lucidly enough.

“I didn’t know there were so many ways to do what you people with your blood powers do,” Nott said.

“Well you wouldn’t, would you? Not if Lucien doesn’t remem—”

Yasha reached out to take hold of his shoulder and  _squeeze_  as a very firm reminder. Tyffial muffled a yelp and stammered. “Mollymauk? Molly. If even he doesn’t remember. But the Hunter’s Bane can manifest itself in a great many ways, and the Order keeps a few different divisions on hand to act, depending on what a problem needs. I’m only here alone because we got it on good intel that the leeches would be at the castle tonight. Otherwise Zoran’d be here with me. He’s good against dead things, just like your Molly is.”

“Could Zoran teach Molly how do to more weird shit?” Nott asked.

“Maybe! But back when he ran with us, he could do the kinds of things Zoran’s  _still_  not on a level with.” Yasha felt her stomach twist with displeasure as Tyffial let out the same admiring sigh she’d heard from Cree in the past. He seemed to realize he was making things awkward again and cut himself off with a hasty cough. “Also, Cree said she’d kill him if she saw him again so, uh, that’d put a damper on any lessons.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess so.” The stairs came to an end and they all emerged into a stone hallway, unlit but for a torch burning with bright light and no heat in a sconce right next to the doorframe. They didn’t need it – they all had darkvision enough to do the job. “You know,” Nott said, glancing up at the dragonborn. “You all might like Mollymauk if you ever actually got to know him for him. We certainly have. Well, most of the time.”

“I’m sure he’s nice enough,” Tyffial grumbled. “But if you’d ever met Lucien – you’d know why there’s no replacing him.”

 _If you ever met Molly, you’d know that, too_ , Yasha thought but did not say, because Molly wanted to be done with the Tomb Takers and it was cruel that life and necessity had not permitted him to be. She simply drew her sword and rested it across her shoulders, braced and ready. “Find what you need. I’ll keep an eye out.”

They nodded – Nott went one way, Tyffial went the other, and Yasha started a slow patrol of the hall to keep an eye out for monsters or traps.

The nearest thing to merit investigation was a line of five heavy wooden doors set into the opposite wall near the stairs. Each was locked, but the locks were cheap enough that Nott and Tyffial both were inside in moments. The disgusted noise that Nott made alerted Yasha to what she was likely to see even before she went to look. Beyond the door was a small, dark, starkly barren cell – a pile of straw, a bucket, manacles with short chains set high into the walls, stains on the walls and floor, and that was all. There were five cells, all in a row, identical but for the center three; each of those bore an enormously large, dark stain on the walls and floor centered around the manacles.

“People don’t have that much blood to lose,” Yasha murmured, running her fingers over the residue. Sure enough, the substance was tacky and faintly sticky under her touch, rather than dry and flaking. It didn’t smell like old blood, either.

“Sulfur,” said Nott quietly, when she heard Yasha sniffing the air. Yasha startled slightly in surprise when she felt the other woman’s small hand creep into hers’, felt her fingers shaking. She squeezed gently in an offer of silent support. “He chained them up. And then let that thing in here.” She drew in a hiccupping, shuddering breath. Yasha looked down to see Nott looking up at her with the beginnings of tears in her eyes.

“He must have been so scared,” she whispered.

Yasha would never claim to be a smart woman in the way most people thought such things mattered. But it wasn’t hard to put the pieces together. Her mouth drew into a thin, tight line of displeasure and her shoulders tensed with barely-contained anger. The ooze fed by engulfing its victims and devouring their memories. Trent had chained his three victims up and let it eat its fill of them until there was nothing left. Despite her better judgment, she tried imagining what that must have been like, what Caleb must have felt in those moments.

She shuddered. Yasha was a woman well acquainted with helplessness, but her memories were the very things that had gotten her through those times. She was a woman well acquainted with the cruelties of the world, but to have even your memories taken from you in your darkest moments was something more and worse than even she’d dared dream of.

It was genuinely a minor mercy when Tyffial knocked quietly on the open door, startling them out of their grim reflections. “I can’t get the big door open,” he said, when they looked back at him. “Thought it might be the lab. Nott, why don’t you give it a try? Yasha, you help me check these other rooms.”

Despite the fact that they still genuinely did not want him here, it was a sensible course of action to focus on, and so they did. Nott settled down before the big door at the very end of the hall and went to work, while Yasha and Tyffial checked all the other rooms they could find and open. There was what looked like a small apothecary full of vials, jars, and dizzying glass contraptions that Yasha couldn’t have begun to identify. Tyffial apparently could, however – he retrieved a few vials from the shelf, apparently at random to her eyes. After a moment’s hesitation and a further moment's hesitation, he pressed one into her hands as well. “You look like a tough sort,” he said. “But anything helps, yeah?”

In another room that seemed to be meant for storage, she found the Magician’s Judge shoved behind a barrel. Yasha reverentially drew it free and kissed its pommel. “You have to stop leaving me like this,” she murmured, as she swapped it gratefully for the borrowed great-sword in her sheathe.

They found a room that simply contained a large stone trough. Yasha found it to be full of the same sticky red residue that the cells had been marred with. It was far too small to hold the ooze that had attacked them before, but maybe it hadn’t always been too small.

They found a large room that was empty but for a couple of chairs and a lectern with a large, heavy book chained to it. Most of the floor was taken up by a vast, elaborate magic circle etched into the ground. Tyffial let out a low whistle when he saw it. “Lucien never involved any of us much, when he was working on this,” he said, pacing its perimeter thoughtfully. “But I was one of the ones standing by when he passed his notes off to the bloodsucker. I saw a bit, and this is it, all right.”

By the time they circled back around to rejoin Nott, it was to find that she’d gotten the door open, made her way into the office revealed beyond, made an almighty mess of the papers, folders and books on the shelves, and seated herself at the big desk to pour over another book.

“Yasha,” she said, very quietly, as she heard them enter the room. “I want you to promise me something.”

“Of course, Nott,” said Yasha. She would have been inclined to agree no matter what, but something about the ironclad steel in Nott’s voice let her know as clear as anything how important this was.

“I want you to promise me that this will not stop when we get Caleb back.” Nott lifted her gaze from the book to stare fixedly at Yasha with hard eyes. “This _does not stop_ until Trent Ikithon is a dead man.”

Feeling her stomach twist with a fresh bout of dread, Yasha paced around the desk to peer over Nott’s shoulder; Tyffial took up position on the goblin’s other side. “What did you find?”

Nott opened her mouth, closed it, massaged her temples, and then simply motioned for Yasha to read for herself. Yasha peered closer and did so.

_M is becoming an even greater irritation. He continues to refer to 1 by the wrong name. I do not know if this is due to carelessness or stubbornness; either way, I have decided that indulging him in this will save aggravation in the long run. It isn’t as if 1 will know what his name was one way or another, if all goes well – he can continue to be Caleb, for all I care._

_Even so, M’s obsession with 1 might prove to be troublesome. I must ensure that keeping him entertained does not distract from my own necessary duties._

With shaking hands, Nott turned a page and jabbed a finger at another line. Sick to her stomach, Yasha nevertheless read on.

 _1 screamed the loudest when I let the oblex into his cell. That is disappointing. Those vagabonds he has hidden himself among really have made him soft_. _I suppose there is no point lamenting lost time when I have the chance to start again_. _I already knew that 2 needed more work when she tried to escape and talked 3 into joining her foolishness._

Yasha tore her gaze away with great difficulty and took a few deep, steadying breaths until she stopped tasting bile. “Nott,” she said. “I swear to you, he will die for this.”

Nott nodded once and slammed the book shut decisively. “Fuck yeah he will,” she said, and handed it off to Yasha to stow in her bag. Then she got off the chair to start gathering up other papers, pointing out to Tyffial which ones were worth taking and which should be left behind. Yasha kept watch at the door, and it proved a good thing that she did because it meant she was in a position to hear footsteps coming down the stairs.

She held up a hand and hissed out a “shush”. Nott and Tyffial obliged, immediately going stock-still and silent. Yasha pressed herself against the wall next to the door, then risked peering out just enough to see down the hall. Sure enough, she could see what seemed to be a glow of light from the stairwell, growing slowly brighter. Whether guard or staff was hard to tell from here, though she had a feeling that whichever they were they probably had no idea what they were walking into. Good. She could take advantage of that.

Motioning for the others to wait, Yasha crept out into the hall, managing to keep her steps silent on the dingy stone floors. She moved with her sword in hand and her back against the wall and her eyes fixed on the growing halo of light.

 _“Hello?”_ she heard a voice call – a man’s voice, hesitant, scared. Yasha cautiously, carefully shifted her grip so she’d strike with the flat of her blade first, then stepped sharply into the threshold and adopted a threatening stance.

 _“Stop!”_ she snarled, staring up into the wide-eyed, frightened face of a man in the uniform of a household guard.

She had just enough time to catch a sharp whiff of sulfur in the air before the oblex dropped from the ceiling to engulf her in the span of a heartbeat.

*  *  *

Normally this was one of his easier tricks to pull. Enthralling someone, fascinating them to the point that they genuinely could not look away from him, was something Molly could help facilitate solely by virtue of _everything he was_ even before the influence of his infernal blood was involved. He was naturally eye-catching, he was used to getting stared at, he was bright and colorful and gaudy and _knew it_ so he knew how to make use of it.

He had none of that at his disposal now – no long red coat, no glittering jewelry, no tattoos in their fascinating swirls of color. Despite the fancy, tailored clothes he wore, Mollymauk Tealeaf looked the most utterly ordinary that he had in years. But raw adrenaline and mad, desperate panic could drive people on to do incredible feats for very stupid reasons. The vampire clearly knew that something was happening, their – _his_ brow furrowed in confusion, but he was also letting himself be towed back into the center of the room, his back to Jester, or at least to where Jester had been. Molly couldn’t see her anymore. Good.  _Good_. 

And so, as the influence of Molly’s blood, the sheer force of his presence and _desperation_ washed over him, the vampire accepted that Molly was the center of his world for the moment. This acceptance was probably aided by the fact that Molly had obviously just done _something_ which merited investigation. So the vampire’s confusion melted into an easy smile, and Molly could practically see the train of thought playing out behind his eyes. What did it matter if one quarry had gone to ground if another had just walked right into his grasp?

“Of course,” said the monster. It wasn’t Caleb’s voice. On some level Molly had been hoping, or maybe fearing, that this would have been Caleb. But the mouth was the wrong shape, the face wasn’t as thin and stark. This close, he could see that the hair tucked neatly into the hood was black. The voice was lighter, too, and the accent slightly less pronounced. “I’ll lead, shall I?” Eodwulf continued. “You don’t look as if you’re from around here.”

Before Molly knew it, the grip on his hands was being shifted and he was being pulled close and the vampire was leading him through the steps of whatever sort of dance was supposed to go to this music.

“Got it in one!” he chirped, as his mind raced desperately. He had possibly, _hopefully_ , ensured his friends’ escape along with the blood. Now he had to do the same for himself before they went and got it into their heads that he needed rescuing. They had always planned for having to make their way out of the castle separately, of course, but they would still get worried if he was too slow in following. “It was quite a stroke of luck I arrived in town in time to receive my invitation.”

“Indeed. His Majesty is grateful for any support he can get for the war effort – especially as it will be coming to an end soon.”

“I had heard that, yes. Magister Ikithon’s been given something very special from the Cerberus Assembly vaults to do it with, hasn’t he?”

Eodwulf raised an eyebrow, his grip spasming reflexively for a moment. The signs of surprise were minute, but present, and child's play for someone who had once made a living at cold reading to detect. _Surprised that I know?_ Molly wondered. _Or is this the first he’s hearing of this?_ “Exactly so,” was what the other man said aloud. “But the completion of his plan will still require our presence in the heart of Xhorhas, at the seat of their foul Empress.”

“You three by yourselves? That’s _very_ impressive.” _I basically flirted my way into this, I will flirt my way out if that’s what it takes._

“We will lead the charge, of course,” Eodwulf said proudly. “But Master Ikithon does mean for others to swell our ranks. That is why he brought us to the festivities, you see. His Majesty’s closest allies deserve to see what fruit their efforts will bear.”

And that was why he was being so open about matters. He’d been told to give this speech to whoever asked after it, no doubt. He’d been told to make a good impression and charm the attending nobles into letting go of their purse strings just a little more. Look, this isn’t an abomination against nature, it can talk just like it’s _people_.

Eodwulf’s grip was like iron as they waltzed – not painful, just rigid, _unmoving_. When Molly tested trying to pull away, the vampire did not let him go, and the smile that touched his lips only grew more pronounced. _You’re playing with me_ , Molly thought, in the cold, rational way that only came past panic. _You’re having fun watching me squirm and talk and when you stop having your fun that’ll be it for me. You’re the cat, I’m the mouse._

 _Well, mice can still bite_.

“Were you always a vampire, then?” he asked cheerfully, and _yes_ , there it was again. Eodwulf didn’t miss a step but his grip loosened in shock at the question asked so boldly and directly. It was only a half-second's opportunity, but Molly was able to get a hand free and get his own balance back, then use that leverage to get his other hand free. Eodwulf bristled, grabbing for him again, and Molly was on such high alert that he didn’t even feel it as the mark on his neck started to bleed. The maledict hit Eodwulf solidly, as Molly took control of all the blood in his cold, dead veins and froze it – and the vampire – solid for just a moment.

It had been a brief, silent struggle, but had still resulted in them bumping into a few lords and ladies so that – almost silently but for a few disapproving murmurs – Molly found himself in the middle of a circle of eyes, staring, wondering what had happened and waiting to see what they would do next. The heat of so many gazes on him was almost hot enough to burn. Molly dared not look to see if Ikithon was among the ones staring. Instead, pasting a bright smile on his face, he started to push his way through, muttering excuses. He could only hope to get enough distance to make a solid run for the door, propriety and protocol be damned.

He made it off the dance floor just as he felt his control over Eodwulf end, just in time to feel another presence _slam_ into his mind and hold him fast with an even greater force than he’d been able to muster against the vampire.

 _Stop_ , a voice said in his mind, and he did. Molly realized with a deadened thrill of horror that he wasn’t just frozen - he was suddenly a passenger behind his own eyes, and someone else had taken deft, easy control of his limbs.

 _“Entschuldigung_ ,” said a voice that made his heart stop for an instant. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a hooded, masked figure step out of the crowd, felt them take his arm. He couldn’t even turn his head to properly see, but he didn’t have to. He knew that voice. “I’m glad we finally found you, party crasher,” Caleb murmured in his ear. “Magister Moritz wishes very much to speak with you.”

“Follow Caleb where he takes you, _liebling_ ,” said a woman’s voice from behind him, and Molly felt the implicit command rattle through his bones and every nerve. “And do be quiet as you go. We don’t wish to cause any more of a fuss than you already have.”

“Wait,” Eodwulf growled, just as Caleb started to tow him along. Caleb paused, glancing back, and Molly found that he was able to turn his head as well even if his mouth remained steadfastly shut and his limbs otherwise felt heavy as lead.

The vampire stalked towards him with the light of murder in his eyes. For a wild moment Molly wondered if they were going to kill him right here in front of the king and everyone, and maybe that would even be a mercy compared to whatever was going to come next.

Instead, Eodwulf clapped a hand on Molly’s shoulder, and spoke for all who were watching to hear. “In answer to your question, no, I was not always this way,” he said, pride in his voice. “Once I was _lesser_.” He looked to his two childhood friends, who nodded their agreement. “We all were.”

And he believed that. The full weight of that realization hit Molly like a shove to the chest. He really believed that. They all did.

Molly's gaze slid to Astrid, where she stood fidgeting her fingers in the air of a puppetmaster toying with strings. He remembered his talk with Cree in a flash. Four Sending spells in quick succession, and then nothing. The spellslinger woman with the book. It was too much to be a coincidence. Astrid, at least, had panicked. So it wasn’t a stretch to think that Eodwulf might have as well. Which would mean that they all wholeheartedly believed those words entirely because Trent Ikithon had told them to. That realization made Molly suddenly, _profoundly_ sad for them all – not just Caleb, but these two as well, who hadn’t broken as he had but maybe, maybe still could have somehow been saved.

That impression was only reinforced when Astrid turned to Eodwulf, clapping her hands in delight as an idea apparently occurred to her. “We haven’t had any fun at all tonight, Wulf. Will you dance with me?”

Laughing, he pulled her close, almost literally sweeping her off her feet. She laughed as well, clinging to him, Caleb smiled fondly as he watched them both, and for just a moment all three looked really, truly human again.

“Save a dance for me,” Caleb said cheerfully, before he turned back around and tugged on Molly’s arm. “Come, you.”

Molly found himself wondering wildly, as he was led along like a dog on a lead, if the blood they’d gotten off of Trent could be enough to break his control over all three. It seemed more and more unlikely by the second that he would ever get the chance to see for himself, of course. At least he’d gotten the blood to Beau before getting himself into this mess. Hopefully one of them would think to try. Maybe Jester. Probably Jester.

Caleb led him not to the big double-doors leading towards the entrance hall, but to one of the side doors lining the walls which were overseen by guards to prevent drunken guests getting lost deeper in the castle. The guard they approached went pale when she recognized one of Trent’s pets – it took no more than a short nod from Caleb before she was hastily unlocking the door to usher them both along.

Molly could hear music in his head. It took him a second to realize that it was because Astrid was humming or singing along to the music back in the hall. The tune was more than a little distracting; its mere presence was deeply, profoundly irritating, insult added to imminent injury. _Can you shut the hell up?!_ he snapped at her across their mental link. _If you’re going to kill me, at least let me die in peace!_

She laughed lightly, airily. _You’re in no position to be making demands of me. I suggest you try to enjoy it, little rat. Depending on how Moritz plans to make you squeak, this might be the last pleasant part of your evening_. 

Still, the noise receded, even though her presence in his mind didn’t. She was still there, still poised to take further control, still _watching_ for signs of resistance or plans of escape. He was absolutely trying to throw her off, get her out of his head, but she didn’t seem to think his efforts anywhere near worth retaliating to.

 _Fuck_.

Even through the suffocating, swaddling sensation of the domination spell, Molly felt his stomach drop as Caleb brought them to a stop in front of a door and knocked. “Moritz?” he called. “I brought the tiefling.”

One second passed, two, three, then Molly heard footsteps approaching before the door was thrown open. “Ah, Caleb, thank you!” Moritz said, and then Molly _saw red_ as he actually leaned forward to give _his boyfriend_ a kiss on the cheek. The fact that Caleb gave no outward reaction to it actually made it worse. “Reliable as ever. I’ll take him from here, darling, thank you.”

“Of course, _schatz_ ,” Caleb said, letting go of Molly and turning away. As he left, Molly felt _just enough_ feeling return that he could raise an arm with the intention of getting his fingers around Moritz’s _throat_ —

\--and then Astrid strengthened her grip once more, tight as a noose, making Molly choke on a _howl_ of frustration. _None of that. Go with him, little rat_ , Astrid ordered, and this time Molly was forced to let the stranger take him by the wrist, draw him into the dusty little parlor, and lock the door behind him. Then his new captor stepped around to peer intently into Molly’s eyes. 

Molly did the only thing he could and examined Moritz in turn. He had thick brown hair and deep blue eyes and a slender sort of build beneath his fancy robes. He was a reasonably handsome man, in a terribly _standard_ sort of way, like a painting with no imagination. And yet, this close, he still looked like little more than an overeager Academy student in oversized, overly fancy robes, trying so hard to look impressive that he utterly failed to.

“Astrid?” Moritz asked. “That’s you in there, isn’t it?”

Astrid told Molly to nod, and so he did. Moritz’s smile only grew more pronounced. “You can let him go now, dear. I’ll handle things from here.”

Molly drew in a great, shuddering breath as the weight of her control suddenly, obligingly vanished. “Oh you’ll _handle_ me, will you?!” he snarled, before switching easily, happily, to Infernal. _“How about I tear your head off and shove it up your arse, you worm?!”_

His words had no more effect than a puff of air against a boulder, but if Moritz had been expecting the psychic attack, he absolutely had not been expecting Molly to immediately follow it up with a punch to the jaw. The impact made him stumble back with a yelp. The intense, vicious satisfaction Molly felt from feeling the blow connect soundly also brought clarity back with it. His situation was still impossibly dire. There was only one maybe-sorcerer in here with him, no sign of vampires. He was never going to get a better chance to _go_. _He who fights and runs away lives to see the light of day_ , Gustav had told him once. That was another of the first lessons he’d ever learned, and it had steered him right.

So Molly turned to lunge for the door, except a blow that should have dizzied even a magically-inclined human – perhaps _especially_ a magically-inclined human, if Caleb was any benchmark – didn’t slow Moritz down much more than a second. Molly barely had a chance to fumble for the lock before he was being grabbed and spun around and _slammed_ back against the wall with a hand around his throat and enough force to drive the breath from his lungs.

“Oh, Lucien,” Moritz murmured, and Molly felt his blood turn to ice. “Difficult as ever. I admit, I had a whole performance planned, where I’d pretend to be working against Ikithon and beg for your help, beg for you and your friends to nobly save me as seems to be your habit. But if you’d rather just cut to the chase, we can do that, too.”

And then shock drove any thoughts of struggling from Molly’s head, because Moritz’s face, his entire body, started to shift and change before his eyes. He grew taller until he was slightly above Molly’s eye level, filled out so that his body was lean and strong rather than soft and slender. Wings, actual _wings_ sprouted from his back, black as a bat’s, and the fabric of the robes seemed to shift to accommodate their presence without tearing. The fingers clutched around Molly’s throat grew claws, not fiercesome enough to pierce but certainly enough to dimple his skin and threaten as much.

But that slight pain was the furthest thing from Molly’s mind, utterly drowned out by screaming, ravening _panic_ as Moritz showed his true face. It wasn’t entirely as it had been. A fiendish second life had elevated his features from thoroughly average into something coldly, superficially beautiful. But the face was still fundamentally the same, and Molly would never forget those eyes, and _no no no oh Lady Moonweaver please please_ no _…_

“Hello again, Lucien,” Maxwell Virago purred, and then pressed close to kiss him.  


	9. Jenga

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yasha takes a stand. Maxwell monologues. Molly gets a rescue from a very unlikely source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG AUTHOR'S NOTE WARNING: For, uh. Maxwell. Maxwell is his own warning. Maxwell is now an incubus, has the Draining Kiss ability, and the will to use it (especially since he's something of a special case and does not need a willing target). After Yasha's section starts, Molly's scene opens on a prolonged sexual assault and some of Maxwell's monologuing is especially gross and abusive in its text and subtext, even by his very low standards. Take care of yourselves, especially if you've had to deal with a stalker or abusive partner. If you want to skip that part, just ctrl+f "ripped out of its frame" and it should be safe to read from there.

She didn’t know how long she floated there. She was dimly aware of things happening outside the red light and weightless space, shouts and disgustingly organic noises and the sense of something tugging on one of her boots. But mostly, she was lost to her memories, seeing them all replay before her eyes in vivid detail before they were drawn out and devoured. There was a part of her that was aware that she should fight this, but her mind felt utterly disconnected from her body. She might as well have been trapped in a hunk of dead meat as well as a ravenous ooze.

Then it got to her memories of Zuala, and Yasha didn’t even have to think before reaching out her mind and holding on to those memories as tightly as she could.

Her eyes flew open. Rage and life flooded every nerve and inch of her. How _dare_ this thing try to take her wife from her again? How dare it _presume_ to have any right to know or have her?

She was still aware of shouting from outside, but now she could make out words. One of the words sounded very much like _“Fireline!”_

Light poured into her prison and heat blazed up around her. Yasha felt a dozen screams of agony echo in her mind – she clapped her hands over her ears on reflex, then realized that she _could_ move again. The fire was making the flesh of the ooze hard and brittle and weak. She had a chance, an opportunity for _vengeance_.

She took it, getting her feet under her and then surging upright with a howl. She clawed and tore her way free of the monster’s horrific embrace, snapping the last blackened, clinging tendrils of it like spiderwebs before stumbling fully out of its mass and then whirling back to face it. She saw that it wasn’t dead, not yet, though it had been wounded badly by the fire as well as by the good dozen crossbow bolts embedded in its slimy surface. But even as she watched, she saw it sloughing off the fire-blackened slime and growing new flesh to replace it, saw it extend a number of pseudopods to lash out at her and the people here with her. But its movements were erratic and jerky. She could dodge easily, even parrying one tendril that tried to get around her and at a little goblin hastily reloading her crossbow.

She didn’t know who the goblin was or what she was doing here – Yasha didn’t even remember what _she_ was doing here – but they were on the same side, they shared the same foe, and that was all that mattered right now.

As three more bolts thudded into the slime’s surface, Yasha took the chance to tip back her head and _scream_ , flaring her wings wide. A red mist of rage descended before her eyes, clearing her mind of the weariness and pain and loss the thing had inflicted on her. Everything faded away but the desire to rend it, tear it, _kill it_ for what it had done and tried to do.

She hefted her sword and lunged at it to chop and hack at its bulk like a butcher stripping a stag. It battered her with its tendrils and further attacks on her mind, even tried to draw her in to engulf her once more. But her strength in body and mind both held this time. Though she was dizzied and shaken from the damage she’d already sustained, she did not stop attacking and so as many of her blows hit as missed.

All the while the goblin continued to fire bolt after bolt, and after a few seconds a green dragonborn raced up with two flaming daggers at the ready to join the assault, flanking and distracting the ooze to buy Yasha chances and time. They kept one another from being pulled in, kept up the attack, and Yasha knew they were killing it by inches.

Until at last she felt it mustering its magic once more – Yasha braced herself for some fresh attempt to addle her wits or freeze her body, but saw instead that the air just before it was twisting and warping, creating a portal to somewhere else. Before its escape route could fully coalesce, however, the goblin barked out “No you don’t!” and this time a beam of bright green light shot from her to strike the half-real portal so that it evaporated back into thin air. “It can’t escape!” the goblin yelled to her this time. “Finish it off!”

Yasha needed no further prompting. With a roar, she stabbed her blade down into the ooze again and again and again, chanting Zuala’s name in her mind with each attack. On the third stab she felt something catch and _sunder_ beneath the force of her rage.

This time, the scream of agony from the ooze was loud and long enough to drive them all to their knees, clutching their heads. She was dimly surprised it didn’t shake the walls with its death rattles. But even as the scream faded from her thoughts, Yasha found herself bowed beneath the weight of memories, all returning to her in a torrent. Some were happier than others. She was nevertheless glad to have them all back safe within her.

So when she opened her eyes, she remembered where she was, remembered why she was here collapsed on the floor of this dim stone hallway. She became aware that someone was patting her cheek, then lifted her head and felt her heart soar with relief to recognize Nott there. Her friend was peering down at her anxiously, and smiled weakly to see Yasha focusing on her. “Ah, hello,” she said. “How’s your head? Only, it had you in there for a _while_ , and—”

“I remember,” Yasha whispered, and Nott looked dizzy with relief.

“Me too,” she said. “It didn’t hit me as hard as it did you, but I remember why we came here to the city and, and going with Molly to see the Tomb Takers, and—”

“That was _you?!_ ” Tyffial called out indignantly, from where he was poking and prodding at the stain. “I thought you having that scroll was kinda fishy!”

“Sure is a good thing I did, though!” Nott called back. “Or else we’d all be ooze food!” 

“We needed that, though!”

“You sure did! You just didn’t need it for the vampires like you thought you would.”

Tyffial opened his mouth, closed it again, then hastily bent to resume examining the remains of the oblex, though Yasha rather suspected it was just a pretense for him to grumble unnoticed.

She dragged herself to her feet and took stock of herself. She was battered and bruised and her face was absolutely smeared with blood. Overall, however, she seemed to be alive and in one piece in all the ways that mattered.

“if we remember everything,” she said. “Do you think Caleb does, too?”

Nott hesitated for just a moment, looking as if she scarcely dared to hope, but then she nodded. “He has to,” she said. “I bet he’s with everyone when we meet back up again. You’ll see.”

Yasha smiled, tired but hopeful, and settled her pack properly across her back once more. “That…that would be nice.”

Of course, after that there was nothing for it but to make their escape with their findings. The sounds of shouting and battle and especially the sound of an enraged aasimar had been heard by the rest of the house even as far down as they were. So news had absolutely spread amongst the staff and guards that something was going on, that trouble was brewing.

So, just as Yasha had warned Molly, the three of them did not in the least make a quiet exit from Trent Ikithon’s estate. Instead, they flung themselves bodily out a third-floor window, hit the grass below with varying degrees of grace, then scrambled back up and over the walls with the sounds of panicked shouting and calls for the Crownsguard to hasten them on their way.

*  *  *

The kiss was so, so cold.

Maxwell had forced Molly’s mouth open, taking advantage of the shock to force his tongue down his throat in something that was as much _invasion_ and _assault_ as it was a kiss. It was a parody of intimacy, it was cold enough to burn, seizing every nerve with a dull, dragging, cloying pain that made him briefly forget there had ever been anything else in the world. And then it stopped being a kiss, then Molly realized with a lurching thrill of horror that it felt like Maxwell was sucking something _out_ of him, into a yawning well of emptiness inside his fiendish form that could never, ever be filled.

Fear flooded his limbs, briefly giving him the strength to fight even as the strength left him. Molly struggled and thrashed, shoving at Maxwell’s chest, clawing at him and trying to get enough leverage to punch him in the face again. For a desperate moment he went fumbling for his swords before he remembered that they weren’t _here_ , he’d left them behind because he’d wanted to be smart.

He felt Maxwell _smile_ against his mouth, felt the rumble of his laughter as he felt Molly’s growing weakness, and the fear was replaced with a fresh surge of _anger_. Acting on a wild impulse, he bit down hard on his own tongue, hard enough to flood his mouth with the iron tang of blood.

Then he managed to get enough leverage to change the angle of the kiss _just enough._ With that, he channeled one long psychic _scream_ from his blood and right back into Maxwell’s body. Molly heard the echo of it in his own mind but the true force hit the incubus solidly. It wasn’t enough to do any permanent damage or even a lot of damage but it did get Maxwell to break the kiss and stumble back with a cry of shock, clutching at his head and nursing a nosebleed. Molly slumped back against the wall, panting, the world pitching and spinning dizzily. When it slid back into focus, the first thing he saw was the door, still unlocked from his earlier efforts.

He bolted for it, but his legs were weak and shaky as a newborn lamb’s all of a sudden, his hands were no better, and Maxwell recovered far more quickly than he’d hoped. Just as he got the door opening, Molly felt a hand closing around the back of his neck and suddenly he was being _slammed_ first into the door, then down onto the floor, hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. While he waited for the stars to clear from his eyes again, waited to remember how to breathe again, Maxwell rolled him over onto his back and straddled him and by the time Molly was able to try and fight back again the incubus was able to simply pin his hands on either side of his head and force another kiss on him. For a minor, hellish eternity Mollymauk Tealeaf was sure he was going to die like this.

But of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. Maxwell Virago would never be that merciful. He wanted you to know you were beaten, and when you were beaten he wanted you to be a captive audience so he could _gloat_.

“I have been waiting _such_ a long time for this, Lucien,” he laughed breathlessly. “I’ve been waiting since the very moment you and yours’ cast me down to hell, in fact! The Styx washed me clean of nearly everything, even my magic! But I never forgot _you_. And I never forgot _Caleb_ , either. The only thought in my head when I clawed my way back out was making you both _suffer!_ And as I dreamed of the best way to do it, I realized I didn’t even _need_ my magic. I just had to make use of someone else’s!”

Apparently so terribly _excited_ now that his moment was at hand, Maxwell released Molly’s wrists to wrap his hands around Molly’s throat instead, squeezing with a deliberate, careful pressure. When Molly tried to claw at his hands or gouge at his eyes, Maxwell leaned forward even more, using his elbows to deny Molly even what scant leverage he had from this position.

“I already knew his name and face from just a few moments in Caleb’s mind,” Maxwell carried on, speaking louder to be heard over the sounds of Molly struggling and choking. He wasn’t squeezing hard enough to kill, just hard enough to leave Molly piercingly aware that at any second he _could._ “And, fortunately for me, Trent Ikithon is something of a known quantity down there! So I made a few deals and got what I needed.”

His expression went cold and stormy. He leaned closer until he and Molly were nearly nose-to-nose. Molly thought wildly for a moment that Maxwell was about to drain him again, and maybe that would have been a mercy because he wouldn’t have to listen to the bastard _talk_ anymore. “I am not a man who likes making _deals_ , Lucien. I have been cheated at them one too many times.” He tightened his grip just enough to make Molly’s vision go grey at the edges, leave him dizzy when the pressure eased so that he almost missed what the incubus said next. “But I am also a man accustomed to getting what I want. So I bargained and offered and _debased_ myself, and in the end Master Ikithon and I got in touch. He was _very interested_ in what I had to offer.”

_A portal opening up in the ground beneath them, shattering the peace of a lazy summer day. Caleb clinging desperately to him as it tried to draw him down, Molly holding on as tightly as he could. “Please! Don’t let go, don’t let—”_

_A slim, pale, clawed hand reaching through the portal, grabbing the very hem of Caleb’s coat, and_ pulling—

 _“You,”_ Molly gasped, with what must have been the last of the air in his lungs. _“You--!”_

Maxwell laughed, low and delighted, his eyes agleam with triumph. “ _Me_. It really was so _sweet_ , the sight of you trying to hold on tight. But you just weren’t strong enough, were you, Lucien?”

Yet again, it wasn't fear that gave him strength. It was the worst, most terrible _anger_ that Mollymauk Tealeaf had ever known. With a snarl, he surged up, hard and fast enough to counter Maxwell’s grip on his throat and get the bastard within arm’s reach. The look of shock and panic on Maxwell’s face was, quite simply, _beautiful._

Molly raked his nails down the monster’s face then got a thumb in his eye and _pushed_ so that Maxwell let out a _yowl_ of pain. Perhaps he could have taken that moment to try and escape but he was well past sense, past reason, consumed only with hatred for this thing and how it had hurt him, hurt his friends, hurt the man he loved. They’d all watched Maxwell Virago _burn_ and in any just world that should have been the end of things.

He’d turned Maxwell’s eye into a ruined pulp by the time Maxwell managed to get his fingers tangled in Molly’s hair and then force him closer for another kiss. Molly had a brief sensation of impossibly cold _emptiness_ and then he was sure he must have lost consciousness. The next thing he knew was Maxwell slapping him so hard across the face that he was dimly amazed his neck didn’t break from the force of it. The world pitched and spun back into half-focus around him and he found himself once again on his back, once again with Maxwell’s hands around his throat. They weren’t squeezing at all, this time, but Molly knew all this meant was that, when they _started_ squeezing again, this time they wouldn’t stop.

The only difference in the scene this time was that Maxwell’s expression was transfixed with indignant rage, his face and throat were bloody ruins of messy scratches, and one eye was a pulped mess. It made for a very pretty sight. It would make a better thing to see in his last moments than Maxwell’s smug, stupid smile. Molly grinned weakly, even laughed softly before that was cut off by a wheeze.

“You know, getting people to love you is so _easy_ when you can just tell them to,” the incubus whispered, staring to slowly, slowly tighten his fingers. Molly’s attempts to pry him off might as well have been an attempt to uncurl stone itself. “But you should be proud of him, Lucien – Caleb was so, so _stubborn_. I had to wait until he forgot you altogether. After that, of course, Trent was happy to order Caleb to give me whatever was left of his heart. And why shouldn’t he? It was the least I was owed for giving him _such_ an opportunity. He’s _mine_ now, Lucien, and never fear, I’ll take _very, very_ good care of—”

It was then that the door was ripped out of its frame and tossed so far down the hall that it bounced.

Maxwell’s gaze snapped up, shock making him loosen his grip reflexively so that Molly was able to start breathing again, for all the good it would do. He still felt too desperately week to even try to move, but he was able to turn his head just enough to see what had left Maxwell so stricken.

Caleb Widogast stood in the doorway, free of his mask. His red eyes were narrowed, his fangs were bared, he sounded as if he were growling in rage and all the force of his menace was fixed firmly on the incubus.

 _“You,”_ he whispered, stepping slowly into the room.

Maxwell actually whimpered. It was suddenly even easier to breathe as he got off of Molly and started to back away, hands held up in a gesture of peace, an anxious rictus of a smile on his face. “Caleb,” he stammered. “Caleb, _darling_ , whatever is—”

Fire bloomed in each of Caleb’s hands. “Do _not_ call me that!” He tossed one firebolt, then another. The first caught Maxwell in the chest. His flailing attempts to duck out of the way of the second meant that his wing was scorched, rather than his face. The fiend let out a shriek of pain and fear and wound up huddled in the far corner of the room, panicked, off-balance. Caleb, meanwhile, finally stopped his relentless advance when it was keep going or trip over Molly.

And, as Molly stared up at him in exhausted, disbelieving shock, he realized that Caleb actually cared about tripping over him. He realized that Caleb _recognized_ him. The realization left him utterly at a loss for words, but Caleb seemed to understand the current state of him. He looked pained and upset at the sight of Molly, in fact, so much so that he actually bent down and picked Molly up off the ground as if he weighed nothing at all. “Oh, _liebling_ ,” he murmured, and Molly’s heart _ached_ at the love in his voice. “Oh, my Mollymauk, look at you.” He brought Molly to the corner nearest the door and sat him down carefully against the wall, then kissed his forehead with cold lips. “There, there. Rest now. I’m here. I will take care of this.”

Molly could barely even feel the tears on his cheeks, warm when everything else still felt cold as ice. Smiling was the only thing that didn’t hurt. “Caleb,” he whispered in wonder and awe, and was _almost_ too distracted by the smile Caleb offered him in turn to see over his shoulder and realize that Maxwell had disappeared.

Caleb saw the dawning horror on his face because he immediately whipped round, hissing, one arm flung protectively in front of Molly. “No,” he whispered, after a moment. “No running.” Then he murmured a few words, carved an arcane sign in the air, and vanished, too.

Except Molly realized a scant second later that neither of them had vanished, not truly, they’d just shifted themselves over to the Ethereal Plane. He realized as much when Caleb blinked back into existence for just an instant, five feet away from where he’d been, one hand closed tight around Maxwell’s upper arm to keep him close while he otherwise laid into him with punches, kicks, teeth, and magic. Molly had just enough time to see Caleb grab a fistful of wing and _twist_ , and then he heard the beginnings of snaps and _screams_ before they were gone from sight again.

The battle raged on and on, the two combatants flashing in and out of the material realm almost too fast to process, each blink marked by the sound of an aborted scream or howl of pain. Except the glimpses that Molly was able to get told him in short order that it wasn’t a battle, it was a _slaughter_ , it was Caleb playing with his food. Every time he caught sight of them, it was to see Maxwell sporting fresh wounds and Caleb untouched but for a few bruises and scratches that healed even as he watched. Caleb threw Maxwell into furniture hard enough to shatter it and slammed him into walls hard enough to crack the stone and they were gone before the dust settled.

Until at last, Molly heard them reappear out in the hallway, Maxwell mid-plea for his life. “—do this! Trent, he, he said—!”

Molly winced despite himself as he heard an impact land with enough strength to break bone. “Master Ikithon told me to indulge you so long as you did not become a liability or get in our way,” Caleb said coldly. “You diverted us from hunting down trespassers who arranged an assault on him to toy with one tiefling that we already had well in hand. More than that, your self-absorbed _pettiness_ has been grating on him for some time, Virago. He will not mourn you.”

There was a thought trying to fit into Molly’s head, but he didn’t have room for it just yet past shock and exhaustion and fear and hope. It was all he could do to shift himself just enough to peer out into the hall.

This time, it was Maxwell on his back and Caleb straddling him, one hand planted firmly on the fiend’s chest, the other wound through his hair. Maxwell was shaking like a leaf, Caleb was as still as a statue.

“Please,” Maxwell whispered. “Caleb—Bren, _please_ —”

Caleb _snarled_ and snapped his teeth. “Do _not_ call me that! Not you! You of all people have no right!”

Then the hand in Maxwell’s hair started to pull, and pull, and _pull_ and Molly realized what was happening a scant second before Maxwell did. The incubus screamed and _screamed_ and then the scream was cut off first by a choking sound and then a slow, terrible _rip_.

Molly was dimly, dully proud of himself for not looking away or blinking, even once, as Caleb tore Maxwell Virago’s head off. The body spasmed and shuddered for a moment beneath him and then went limp, viscous black blood gushing out onto the floor.

The silence that followed was so heavy as to be nearly a physical weight. Caleb stayed where he was, staring fixedly at nothing Molly could see, his hand still clenched tightly in the severed head’s hair.

“Caleb?” Molly whispered. Caleb startled, blinking owlishly, then shook his head as if to clear it and contemptuously tossed the head aside. He got to his feet, fussily wiped his bloody hands on his pants, then walked back over to rejoin Molly. There was still a splattering of blood on his face, and somehow Molly couldn’t bring himself to look away from it. Somehow, Caleb’s soft, anxious smile brought no comfort now, though maybe that was just because Molly still felt so drained that it seemed like nothing would ever feel good ever again.

“It’s done,” Caleb said, and let out a long sigh of relief. “He’s done.” He knelt down in front of Molly and peered worried into his eyes, brushing a few stray curls of hair back from his forehead. “Oh, but he made a mess of you. That’s all right, Mollymauk, it’s fine. Just come with me.” He slid an arm around Molly’s shoulders and supported his chest and then helped Molly struggle back to his feet with painstaking care. Molly slumped against him with a grateful sigh. He didn’t think he had ever felt so _tired_ in all his short life, but Caleb supported him without complaint or any real sign of difficulty. “There we go. Never you fear, Mister Mollymauk, Master Ikithon will fix you up just fine.”

Something inside Molly _broke_ as he heard those words, as full comprehension of what they _meant_ sank into his overtired mind much too slowly. The brief warmth of relief was extinguished by ice and horror, and his vision blurred with a fresh rush of tears. No. _No_.

“Caleb,” he whispered. He tried to dig in his heels, praying that if he could just get a second to think then he could somehow make this not be happening. “Caleb, no. We, we can’t see him. We have to get out of here. We have to get back to the others. You know that, right?”

There was no way he was actually strong enough to stop Caleb from moving, but Caleb noticed him trying and paused, tilting his head to regard Molly with genuine puzzlement. “We will, _liebling_ , we will,” he said. “But Trent he has to know what happened first. You can help me explain, that will make it go faster.”

Molly shook his head, and now he was the one pleading. “This is your chance to get _away_ from him! Caleb, we did all of this to _save_ you!”

Caleb was staring at Molly as if he’d started speaking Infernal. “Why would I want to--?” He cut himself off with a frown and shook his head. “You are talking nonsense. I don’t doubt Virago addled your wits more than a touch. Here.” And as Molly stared in increasing disbelief and disgust, Caleb tugged off one of his gloves with his teeth, then reached into an inner pocket of his coat. When he pulled his hand back, it was for the sake of licking a dab of sweet oil off one fingertip. “Here, maybe this will let you understand. I _suggest_ we go and talk to Master Trent, so he can fix you and we can make sense of this mess of a night.”

Rediscovering and refining his control over his blood powers had brought with it the happy side effect that Molly’s mind was now quite hard for enemies to get ahold of, whether for the sake of scaring him off or charming him close. Astrid’s spell had still been powerful enough to overcome his defenses, but this little cantrip was _pitiful_ compared to that. Molly didn’t even have to think before shrugging it off. He was left with only the overwhelmingly awful realization that Caleb had just tried to affect his mind without asking in the first place. “Did you just try to magic me?!” he demanded in disbelief, his voice momentarily regaining its strength. He wasn’t sure if he was more offended at the attempt or that Caleb had thought the weakest spell of that sort in his book would do the job. They hadn’t been apart _that_ long.

Caleb looked so _confused_ at Molly’s protestations, and then he looked faintly frustrated. “I had to,” he said. “You are not making sense.”

“ _I’m_ not making sense?! You’re about to hand me over to the bastard who _made_ you like this!”

Caleb’s frown only grew more pronounced. Molly realized with a lurch that he looked _hurt_. “What’s wrong with how I am?”

He had regained his memories, but he was still under Ikithon’s control. The only reason he’d taken the step of getting rid of Maxwell had been because his "sire" hadn’t cared enough about the fiend’s survival to bother stopping him. Looking at him now, there could be no doubt in Molly’s mind that this was the situation before him.

It wasn’t _fair_. 

Even so, it was happening, so Molly gritted his teeth and pulled away, hard. It was almost certainly only Caleb’s own surprise at Molly’s reaction that let him do so. “We’re not doing that. Let _go_ of me!”

He stared at Molly, wide-eyed and uncomprehending and _wounded_ and Molly’s traitorous heart very nearly faltered but he managed to make himself listen to his instincts instead, the ones he still didn’t entirely understand but which had never truly steered him wrong. This wasn’t Caleb, not really. This was a monster. The job wasn’t done yet.

“Stop being ridiculous!” Caleb snapped. “You are in no fit state to be going anywhere. Come _here!_ ” He grabbed for Molly, moving far faster than Molly expected or was in any fit state to react to, so once again he acted entirely without thinking. He felt the eye mark on his neck start to bleed and then Caleb’s eyes went black, leaking tears of blood. Caleb reared back, clutching his face with a cry. The sight made Molly waver again for just a heartbeat, and even that was almost too much. But in the end, he was able to make himself turn and run, no plan or destination in mind besides _away_.

He made it around the corner and down the next hallway, hearing Caleb in pursuit and catching up fast. Molly rounded the next corner sharply, only to collide forcibly with someone coming the other way. He had a brief impression of blue skin and violet eyes before Jester was shoving him behind her and holding something up between them and the approaching vampire. “Caleb, get _back!_ ”

Her holy symbol blazed with green light. Caleb had been barely a foot away, but as the light poured forth he came to an abrupt halt, shielding his eyes and _screaming_. As Molly watched, horrified, Caleb stumbled back gracelessly and finally turned away, fleeing quickly back to the other end of the hall. He looked about to run further, but managed to recover his composure for just a moment, supporting himself on the wall and staring at them in wounded disbelief.

“I, I don’t understand,” he whispered, and Molly’s breath broke on a sob when he saw there were tears in Caleb’s eyes. “I missed you all, I thought…I thought…”

Words failed him, and maybe that was for the best, because Molly thought dimly that he and Jester both might have lose their nerve entirely otherwise. He could see that her grip was white-knuckled and shaking around her holy symbol, and her tears reflected green in the light of her divine power. But in the end, Caleb turned and kept running, banished by the Traveler’s light. In the end, they were left alone.

Molly wasn’t sure which of them recovered first, but the end result was that she took his hand or maybe he took hers’, and they both squeezed tight in what scant reassurance they could give. Then they turned and fled back the way Jester had come. She led the way past Beau, who was keeping watch over a small pile of unconscious guards, and then the three of them rejoined Fjord where he was keeping watch at a broken window. It took Molly a full ten seconds of being outside to realize that the rain had started back up.

And then, all together, the four of them made a mad, desperate dash for the palace gates. They made enough of a hue and cry in their approach that the guards couldn’t possibly rally in time to stop them, so that the Mighty Nein were out past the walls and off down the wide cobbled streets before anyone else really knew what had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered titling this chapter "Bigger Fish", because, well...there's always a bigger fish, isn't there?
> 
> And I figured none of you would be too sad to see Maxwell make a hasty exit. He got the plot going, but he got in way over his head for a guy who lost his magic, and ultimately deserved what he got and more.


	10. Vengeance, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb reports on the events of the night while Astrid reflects on what's to come. Molly, Jester, Beau, and Fjord catch their breath, compare some notes, and then realize they're being hunted. Molly makes a plea that isn't heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wound up writing a bonus scene that stretched the chapter I was planning to post to overstuffed levels. So I decided to split it in two - I know this part's a bit short, but I think it will absolutely pace better this way if we have a moment of calm before the next storm. I can take my break after Part 2 is posted next week.

“Now,” said Trent, his arms folded behind his back, staring at Caleb dispassionately and utterly ignoring Astrid and Eodwulf from where they were waiting anxiously on the periphery. “Repeat back to me what you did wrong.”

Caleb -- Bren, his name was Bren, it had always been Bren -- gritted his teeth, swallowed. Astrid heard him trying to breathe through the pain, which was a bad sign in its own right. After all, breathing wasn’t anything they _needed_ to do anymore. It was just a bad habit, like picking nails or chewing hair, that the three of them fell back into when they forgot themselves.

But of course, it would be so easy for him to forget himself right now, with both his hands submerged in a basin of holy water. Steam was rising from its surface and she could see the flesh on his hands bubbling, blackening. Even so, when he spoke, his voice was mostly steady. She was proud of him.

“I acted rashly, stupidly,” he said. “I assumed your intentions when I had no right. The fact that you would have ordered Virago’s death in any case was a coincidence, nothing more. I should have brought his actions to your attention first, acted on your word.”

“And?” Trent asked coldly, and Astrid saw Bren's throat bob as he bit back a whine.

“I caused trouble for you,” he said. “Leaving the body where it could be found, leaving such a mess. I caused trouble for you and the king and your plans. And then I let two of the intruders escape. I’m sorry, Master, I’m sorry. I acted like a child when I am supposed to be so much better. I dishonored the time and effort you put into bettering me. I will not disappoint you again.”

The room was silent for one second, two, three, and then on a count of ten Trent sighed and said: “I will permit nothing less. You may remove your hands.”

Bren did so, choking down any sign of pain as he pulled his hands free from the holy water and cradled them to his chest. They were little more than blackened ruins, scorched and burned almost down to the bone. But still, he stood tall, though his head remained deferentially bowed before their sire. She was so proud of him, it almost felt like her heart beat again.

“You may remain here in this room until Bren’s hands are healed,” Trent said, raising his voice to address Astrid and Eodwulf as well this time. “Then you will pursue the ones who intruded here tonight and you will kill them. Is that understood?”

“Of course,” Eodwulf said.

“ _Ja_ ,” Astrid added.

Bren only nodded, his eyes still fixed on the floor. Astrid felt a little thrill of fear for him because she knew that wouldn’t be good enough, they all should have known that wouldn’t be good enough. And indeed, Trent made an impatient noise, stepped around the basin, then forcibly turned Bren to face him, tilting his chin up so that their eyes met. “ _Bren_ ,” he said, sternly. “Are you hesitating?”

Astrid could see him fidgeting in visible discomfort – Bren had never been very good at eye contact. “No, Master,” he whispered. “Of course not.”

“Are you _certain_? Because between your rash action earlier and the fact that you let two of the intruders escape, I am having my doubts even now. It seems to me that you might well be pining for your time as a filthy vagrant hiding in the shadows of criminals and traitors. As someone too _weak_ to act on his own or defend himself. Is that true, Bren?”

Astrid saw Bren’s ruined hands actually curl half into fists for a moment, before he made them relax, lest Trent mistake the sign of determination for one of hostility. “No, Master Ikithon,” he said, and now there was no possible hesitation or wavering in his voice. “I am not. I would _never_. You have made me so much stronger than I was then. You have made me someone who can act, not just in my own defense but in defense of the Empire. I will not forget that. I will not dishonor it. And to prove it to you, I will fix my moment of weakness, and kill the intruders tonight.”

Astrid felt Eodwulf relax beside her and right along with her. “With our help, of course!” he called over happily. “You don’t get all the glory for yourself, Bren.”

He looked over at them both and smiled warmly. “I would never have it any other way,” he said earnestly. “Never again.”

Trent regarded them all quietly for a moment, then reached out a hand towards Bren. He didn’t flinch, though Astrid found herself fighting the urge to flinch on his behalf and Eodwulf didn’t even fight it. But in the end, he only laid a heavy, grounding hand on top of Bren’s head in a quiet gesture of approval.

“Good,” said Trent lightly. Then: “I will expect good news tonight. From all of you.”

“And you will have it,” Astrid hastened to reply.

“We will be proud to deliver it,” Eodwulf added.

Trent nodded his acceptance of this. “Wait until Bren’s hands have healed, and then go,” he said, then turned and left the room himself, leaving the three to gather their wits.

Astrid counted down from thirty in her head and knew that the other two were doing the same. When the count hit zero, Bren slumped back heavily against the wall and let out a long, exhausted groan of pain, clutching his hands to his chest. _“Scheisse,”_ he whimpered.

They both immediately moved to check on him. Astrid bent to peer closely at his hands as Eodwulf fretfully brushed a bit of hair back from Bren’s forehead.

“Already healing,” she said, feeling the knot in her chest loosen a little with relief at the sight of red muscle and white sinew blooming forth from the blackened mess.

“I know,” Bren said, his voice low and pained. “Healing hurts.”

“Cheer up,” said Eodwulf steadfastly, squeezing Bren’s shoulder and kissing his cheek. “It hurt just as much before, and we’d be laid up for hours or days while it did.”

That, at least, got a faint smile out of their friend. “ _Ja_. True enough.”

The sight of the smile visibly pleased Eodwulf – he’d always been good at teasing them out of Bren during bad times. Encouraged, he stepped up onto the wall and started walking up it, then across the ceiling, until he was dangling upside-down on Bren’s other side and able to press a kiss to his other cheek. That actually made him laugh, ducking his head a little. Astrid smiled proudly at the sight of her boys. “There is so much we could not do before,” Eodwulf continued. “And now we can. We are never going to be perfect, Bren, but at least Master Ikithon ensures that we will never be imperfect in the same way twice. That is worth a very great deal, I think. We may be dead, but we grow and change more and better than a hundred living men could ever hope to.”

“And besides,” Astrid said. “It is not as though you acted wrongly, just rashly. And that is a much simpler sin to amend.” Her mouth twisted in distaste, and she added: “Even if you should have waited, Bren, I am glad Virago is dead. I never liked him.”

“Nor I,” Eodwulf agreed with a nod. “Still, I suppose one of us had to keep him in line until Master Ikithon got all he needed. If it had to be you, it was only right that you be the one to dispatch him one way or another.”

“He really was a leech,” Bren muttered darkly. “In all the ways one can be. I’m glad Master Ikithon was able to get all he needed from him. It was the least he was owed for putting up with such a person.” He sighed softly, a little more tension bleeding from his shoulders as new skin started to crawl up his hands. “Still. I do wish the body hadn’t caused such a panic. It put an early end to the festivities, and now we won’t be able to have our dance.”

Astrid and Eodwulf exchanged a look over Bren’s shoulder – she grinned, he rolled his eyes. “Don’t be silly, Bren,” Astrid chided, tucking her arm through his and leaning her head on his shoulder. “We will have our own dance when we finish up tonight. We can go and hunt up one of those silly little bards from the ball, or we can make our own music.”

In evidence, Eodwulf flicked his fingers as if brushing lint from his shoulder, and a few seconds of violin music echoed in the space around them, playing out a brief waltz. Bren hummed along while the music lasted. He seemed so cheered by the prospect that he actually turned to face Astrid, cradled her face in his newly healed hands, and pressed a firm kiss to her mouth. He pulled away much too soon, but only for the sake of giving Eodwulf the same attention – Bren had always been so good about making certain neither of them felt left out.

“I missed you both,” he murmured warmly, his eyes so bright and fond as he looked between the two of them.

Eodwulf pushed off from the ceiling and flipped in midair to land lightly on the floor. Then he straightened up with a bound and tucked his arm through Bren’s as well. “And we missed you.”

As they cuddled close on either side of him, their missing piece, Astrid caught herself wondering idly why they had forgotten Bren for as long as they had.

She dismissed the thought almost before it finished forming, however. Master Ikithon must have had a good reason. “We have all the time in the world, now,” she said, and reached out to trail the backs of her fingers down Bren’s cheek. “And we won’t let anyone take you away again.”

“Do you promise?” he asked.

“We swear it,” Eodwulf said, solemn as he ever was, and Astrid nodded her immediate agreement.

With those words said and that vow made, they left to attend to the rest of the night’s work.

*  *  *

They’d gone ten blocks before Jester called a halt so she could heal Molly. Molly protested that he didn’t need it, they didn’t have time, they had to keep moving. Jester was pulling diamonds out of her bag even as he did so, as well she should have. Molly’s skin was grey and ashen, the color washed out of him. Whatever had happened to him before they’d mounted their rescue, it had left him looking weak and drained in body and soul. It had left him with awful, livid bruises around his neck and one side of his face. Neither he nor Jester had given any details yet, and Beau was ready to scream in frustration.

Jester murmured a prayer, then closed her fist around the tiny diamonds. The spell crushed them to powder, which she let drift over his hair, rubbed into his cheeks, allowed to dust his shoulders. Then the dust flared with a bright, restoring light, and when it faded Molly still looked exhausted and weak but no longer drained and half-dead. When Jester took his hands and healed him properly, his condition improved still further, and Beau felt like her heart could finally start beating a proper pace again.

They lingered there in the alley a few moments longer, long enough for Jester to pull Molly’s clothes out of her bag and hand them over so he could change. Everyone else had already shed their fancy attire in the hopes that their tattered, familiar traveling clothes might help them become even a little more inconspicuous.

“What the fuck happened?” Beau asked, as she kept watch on one side of the alley and Fjord watched the other.

“Caleb,” Jester said flatly.

“Not just Caleb,” Molly said, which seemed to surprise even Jester. “But that is a _much_ longer story, and I’ll tell you all once we’re in out of the rain.”

Though his physical condition had improved, something about his voice still made Beau worry at her lower lip. She risked a glance back and saw a flash of something genuinely _haunted_ in Molly’s eyes. It scared her and, unfortunately, even after all they’d been through together fear still made her angry.

“What the hell were you thinking?” she snapped. “What the _hell_ was that self-sacrificing bullshit? I only left you to it because I thought you had a _real_ plan!”

“I did!” Molly said, fumbling with the ties of his shirt. His coat would remain in the bag for now. His smile was bright and brittle as glass. “My plan was to get Jester and the blood out of there. And it worked! And you all got me out of there afterwards. A very successful night, if you ask me.”

“Didn’t have a plan to get yourself out, huh?”

“I was sure I’d think of something. I usually do.”

He hadn’t even been out of their sight twenty minutes and yet, just looking at him now, Beau had the very definite feeling that Mollymauk Tealeaf was right about to break and she had no idea what she could do about it. A helpless glance to Fjord and Jester told her that they were feeling much the same and just as helpless.

Fjord, at least, took the step of intervening. He moved to rejoin them, hands held up in a gesture of peace. “We can yell at each other later,” he said. “Let’s get off the streets. We got what we came for – if all goes well, hopefully Nott and Yasha did, too. This could have gone a lot worse, folks. We did good tonight.”

Jester and Molly each forced a smile, and even Beau felt her hackles settling. “Yeah,” Jester said, though her voice was still just a little too high. “We did good.”

And so they ran, on and on, twisting their way through alleys and side-streets at random. Jester didn’t bother to veil their steps, the rain was doing that well enough. Beau fancied once or twice that she heard the sounds of shouting and distant pursuits, but had no idea if that was just her own overstrung paranoia or not. After a while, she heard Jester whispering something, then there was a moment of silence before the other woman laughed in relief. “Nott says she and Yasha just left the mansion! They got that stupid ooze good.”

The confirmation was a welcome release of tension. Fjord let out his breath all in a rush and Beau punched the air. Only Molly was silent. When Beau glanced back at him, she saw that his expression was intent and scared.

“I’m glad they’re having a better night than we’re about to,” he said at last, pitching his voice so all three of them could hear him over the rain and the sound of their own fleeing footsteps. The bravado in his voice was valiant and false. “Everyone, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. They’ve got our scent, and they’re going to catch us.”

The sudden rush of renewed panic was like a live jolt up Beau’s spine. “What do you mean?” she yelped.

“Caleb, Astrid, Eodwulf. They’re coming, and they’re gaining. I’m sorry, I only just sensed them now, but if I can sense them that means they’re already close.”

She opened her mouth to ask how he knew, then closed it. After all this time, they all knew better than to doubt Molly’s instincts where dead things were concerned. Even if he couldn’t have explained how or why he knew such things if his life depended on it, that knowledge had never failed them before.

“Well, what do we do?!” Fjord demanded, real fear in his voice. “I mean, I could get us some more distance – Jester, maybe I can grab Molly, you grab Beau—”

“Won’t work,” Beau and Molly said at the same time. They exchanged a grim look, and Beau felt an understanding pass between them. It was an understanding that they were very possibly _so fucked_ right now, but delaying the reality of the situation wouldn’t make it any better, might only make it worse.

“Remember that stupid rock he carries around?” Beau said. “The one that can help him go stupidly fast? His two friends probably have the same setup.” She was the fastest of the four of them, and even she couldn’t keep up with Caleb when he really wanted to move.

“And he can track us,” Molly added. “He can track our things, or he can track us directly. At best, we could hold them off until we could find Nott and Yasha, but even then, I don’t like our chances. Let’s get out onto the street, at least. We are _so_ fucked if they catch us all close together.”

“We’ve got the blood,” Beau said. “They’re not going to let us rest. I hate to say it, but this might be our best chance.” Escaping would only delay the inevitable and waste Jester and Fjord’s magic. They were in the best state they were going to be, except for Molly, who she could tell by the bloodstains had burned at least a couple of blood curses already. But they could work with that. They could protect him.

And so they ran, hastening out of the alleys and onto the main road. They hadn’t quite made it to the slums yet and so even at this time of night there were Crownsguard patrolling, though blessedly few people besides. One of the guards saw them, saw their disheveled state and visible panic and certainly saw it when Jester pulled Molly’s swords out of her bag, followed by her axe. She started to call out, to demand their business.

Three shadows leapt down, each from a different rooftop. Three splashes heralded the bodies landing lightly on the street below. The four of them reacted quickly, having been braced for this moment. Fjord and Jester got their backs as close as they could to a wall while Molly and Beau stood roughly back to back in front of them.

The vampires, meanwhile, arranged themselves in a loose triangle around the Mighty Nein – unable to fully surround them from this position, but still loosely spread enough that it was impossible for Molly or Beau individually to keep their eyes on all three at once. Astrid stood on one side, Eodwulf the other, and Caleb stood in the middle, regarding them with cold, hard eyes. They’d all come without their masks, with their hoods down. _Trent wants people to see them,_ Beau realized, feeling a cold vice drawing itself around her heart. _Now he wants everyone to know who’s going to be making examples of his enemies._ The Crownsguard definitely wouldn’t forget the sight of the three monsters, not when one look at them made her turn and run. 

When Caleb spoke, it was in Zemnian, and he sounded almost bored. Language had stopped being a problem for Beau some time ago, so she understood it as easily as if it were Common. _“Kill the two tieflings first,”_ he said, jerking his chin at Molly, then Jester. _“They pose the greatest threat to us. Avoid fire on the purple one, avoid ice on the blue. Beyond that, do as you will. After that, I suppose we can share the human and the half-orc, if they don’t struggle too much. And yes, Beauregard, I know you can understand us, but what exactly do you plan to do to stop us?”_

Beau went rigid with shock, her heart jolting. “ _Shit_ ,” she breathed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Molly dart a glance at her – and then, mad, desperate, idiot that he was, he addressed Caleb directly.

“Caleb, _please_ ,” he said, and her heart _broke_ to hear that he was begging openly, well past the point of pride. “You know us! You know we’re your friends, you know what Trent’s done to you! Even if you don’t see that what you are is wrong, remember everything else! Remember your _parents!_ Dearest, we want to help you! We—” His breath hitched, his voice broke, and Beau didn’t even have to look to know there were tears in his eyes. “—we came to _save_ you!”

Astrid and presumably Eodwulf were braced to pounce, but Caleb held up a hand and they drew back. He stared at Molly, head slightly tilted, an unreadable expression on his face. Beau stared at him, and in the span of a heartbeat she remembered the months he and Molly had shared together, months of holding hands and trading kisses and whispering quietly to each other, growing _disgustingly_ close in a way that had made her gag and made Jester tease but which ultimately should have meant _something_.

“I know,” Caleb said, very simply. Then he cast a spell, so fast and sudden that none of them really had time to process it was happening before Molly was wreathed in flames and bright, blinding light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hunter's Bane: You have advantage on Wisdom (Survival) checks to track Fey, Fiends, and Undead, as well as Intelligence checks to recall information about them. If you are actively tracking one of these creature types, you cannot be surprised by any creatures of that type."
> 
> I know Molly wasn't actively trying to find or get closer to the Blumenthal Drei, but I think it can still be said that he was hyperaware of their presence and location, and so I think the use of the ability still stands. 
> 
> And yeah, I know Caleb just went against his own advice by setting Molly on fire, but the spell he used is something of a special case that will give even a fire resistant tiefling some troubles. He mostly didn't want Astrid and Wulf wasting Fireballs on Molly when they'd be better directed elsewhere. 
> 
> Meanwhile, my beta actually translated Caleb's speech! So here's what Fjord, Jester, and Molly would have been hearing:
> 
> "Toetet die Tieglinge zuerst. Sie stellen die groeßte Gefahr dar. Meidet Feuer bei dem Violetten, meidet Eis bei der Blauen. Ich denke danach koennen wir uns den Mensch und den Halb-Ork teilen, falls sie sich nicht zu sehr wehren. Und ja, Beauregard, ich weiß dass du mich verstehen kannst, aber was genau willst du dagegen machen?"
> 
> So they probably understood just enough to still know they should be concerned.


	11. Vengeance, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mighty Nein fight for their lives against Trent's students. Fjord summons help. Jester turns on the sun. Mollymauk falls, then rises again. Beau forces the issue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was gonna wait until Monday to post this chapter, but then my sinus infection woke me up halfway through apparently the most stressful fight of the campaign so far. And I just...the parallels, man. This chapter is practically an episode coda. I had to go ahead and post it. 
> 
> Also, yettinim did ask nicely. 
> 
> Also also, since a lot of people were curious:  
> "Immolation: Flames wreathe one creature you can see within range. The target must make a Dexterity saving throw. It takes 8d6 fire damage on a failed save, or half as much damage on a successful one. On a failed save, the target also burns for the spell’s duration. The burning target sheds bright light in a 30-foot radius and dim light for an additional 30 feet. At the end of each of its turns, the target repeats the saving throw. It takes 4d6 fire damage on a failed save, and the spell ends on a successful one. These magical flames can’t be extinguished by nonmagical means. If damage from this spell kills a target, the target is turned to ash."
> 
> That said, look. Please do note the "temporary" part of the "temporary character death" tag. There are some things I will never, ever do to you guys.

Molly screamed, though Beau could tell it was more in shock than pain, and indeed the sight of Caleb lighting Molly up like a torch surprised them all so much that Astrid and Eodwulf saw a chance to take.

Laughing like children let out to play, they each followed up with a spell of their own. Astrid swung a sword-shaped pendent from her fingers, its chain wrapped around her hand. A true sword of force appeared over Molly’s head to stab down at him – he blocked it on his own blades, already blazing with radiant light. A scant second later, five beams of arcane energy went arching over their heads. Beau recognized the spell, but that didn’t mean she could do anything but wince as she heard Jester cry out.

“Let’s get Astrid!” she called to Molly. She’d seen the kind of damage Jester could do with a spiritual weapon and wasn’t at all eager to be on the receiving end of anything like it. They had to disrupt her concentration.

“On it!”

Beau charged at Astrid, gritting her teeth as the sight of her merely made the vampire laugh. Her first blow deflected off a magical shield that flared into being around her target, and too late she saw the leather strap tied around Astrid’s upper arm. Knowing what to expect, she followed up by scything her staff into the vampire’s kidneys and then pivoting to drive it up and into her chin. Both blows connected; Astrid’s head snapped back, but the continued buzz of disturbed air behind Beau told her that the sword had remained.

A flash of memory came to her – Caleb, bleeding from the mouth, panting wetly for breath, pinned to the wall with a massive spear in his gut, and still casting spells.

 _They’ve lived through so much worse than me_.

But she had accomplished her goal of getting Astrid’s eyes on her so that Molly could engage as well. She felt his hand on her shoulder and braced herself, giving him a firm point from which to leap up and come down in a whirl of radiant glass. Astrid’s magical armor flashed once, twice, but more blows hit than missed and each carved a line of holy light across her flesh, making it smoke, making her cry out. Beau knew that the greatest danger they faced was how quickly vampires could heal. There was every chance their foes could simply outlast them without Molly and Jester to disrupt that.

As his last strike fell, Molly seemed to blur, fading into spectral insubstantiality. He darted forward, passing straight through her so that he was at her back, and then pivoted sharply round to flank her. Beau grinned fiercely – Astrid might have had training in dealing with a melee, but this still wasn’t where a wizard did their best work. She had to be lucky with every blow they landed, they only had to be lucky once.

Her courage received another boost when, from behind her, she heard Fjord roar _“Barlgura!”_ in a voice that boomed like thunder. The summoning was quickly followed by a scream of rending air and then the boom of giant footsteps and then: _“Kill the vampires!”_

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the massive, reddish, ape-like bulk of the barlgura charge Eodwulf and hit him hard enough to send him flying down the street, shield be damned. Beau was just realizing that this meant they’d left Caleb unassailed, but Jester rectified the situation almost before the thought could finish processing. Pink bubbles of soap-like energy popped into being around the third vampire and burst to reveal tiny unicorns which gleefully set to work ransacking him. He let out an angry, frustrated snarl, throwing up his hands to protect his face.

Beau met Molly’s gaze over Astrid’s shoulder in mutual understanding – if they could get Astrid shepherded into the field of spirit guardians, this could go that much faster.

 _“Uh, guys?!”_ Jester called, over the roaring of demons and the laughing of unicorns. In deference to the proximity of their three foes, she spoke in Infernal, a language which all four of them understood for various reasons. _“How do we want to do this? Like, we don’t want to really kill them, right?”_

Beau knew the exact spell that had driven Jester on to ask as much. It was true that it could put a true end to things very quickly, but…did they really want that? The tiny vial of blood suddenly seemed to weigh so heavily in her pocket. Did they have enough for all three? Did they really have the right to decide which or both of the other two lived or died if there was a chance they could be saved?

 _“Caleb is our priority!”_ Molly yelled back. _“If taking out the other two keeps us alive, do it!”_

“I don’t know what you’re planning!” Caleb called – he’d always trusted to his magic to understand Infernal, and now he had more important things to use his magic on. “But I think I will put a stop to it either way.”

He drew a hand out of his pocket and smeared something on the palm of his other hand in a counter-clockwise direction and panic lit up Beau’s every nerve. Momentarily forgetting Astrid entirely, she lunged at Caleb, trying in vain to stop him as the air went thick and slow as molasses around her. Damn it. _Damn it_. She hit the ground and even stumbled slowly, moving like she was trapped in deep water, and from Jester’s frustrated cry of “No!” from behind her Beau knew she wasn’t the only one that had been affected.

Astrid’s sword of force stabbed into Beau from behind, drawing no blood but making her cry out in pain as it seemed to vibrate her entire body just an inch out of place. “Fjord, you all right?!” Molly called from behind her.

“Fine and dandy!” Fjord called back. She turned her head just enough to see that he’d planted himself in front of Jester, another line of defense for her, apparently trusting to the barlgura to keep Eodwulf distracted long enough for them to subdue at least one of the other two vampires. There was no chance it could finish him off on its own.

When Beau lifted her head, Caleb had moved, getting free of the pack of spirit guardians so that he could focus on them without distractions. There were too many other spells Jester needed to cast right now – especially slowed down, Beau didn’t dare to hope that she’d be able to keep them on him. She had just enough time to process that thought when a blast of howling, viciously cold air scythed through her and Molly, momentarily freezing the blood in her veins and the bones in her body. She was still shivering violently when Molly hauled her upright and so was he, and then Beau noticed something else plaguing the tiefling.

“You’re still on fire!” she yelped.

Molly gritted his teeth, bracing himself to charge Astrid again. “Don’t worry about it!”

“Fuck that! It’s raining and you’re still on fire!”

“I’m _fine!_ ”

It was true that Molly could resist fire and heat far better than any human could, but he wasn’t immune. Beau could see that the flames licking his skin _were_ still having an effect, eating through his clothes to slowly blacken and char the flesh beneath. If even the downpour of rain couldn’t douse these flames, they’d still kill him _eventually_ , and she realized with a cold twist of certainty that Caleb had been counting on that.

“Jester!” she barked, even as she stumbled forward to attack Astrid again. “Help Molly!”

It was maddeningly frustrating how slowly she moved – still nearly as fast as a normal person, but half as fast as she was used to. She couldn’t get any fluidity and force behind her strikes to chain them together, couldn’t channel her ki through limbs that felt so heavy and clumsy. Even managing to crack Astrid across the face again with her staff and then jam a fist into her stomach felt like a minor miracle. She was sure she only did that much damage because Astrid still overestimated how useless Beau was right now, and trusted too much in her magic armor.

“I got him!” Fjord called, a scant second before the rain coalesced over their heads into a waterfall that crashed down hard on Beau, Molly, and Astrid hard enough to make them all stagger. Molly recovered first – as she blinked water from her eyes, Beau saw him wreathed in steam from the newly extinguished flames, which he used to his full advantage to get around her again and cut a web of light and pain across her back before jamming both blades straight through her, one after the other, and then once again fading from physicality.

Astrid screamed, clawing frantically at her wounds, and this time Beau heard panic in the sound as well as pain. “Caleb!” she cried, as the teeth-rattling buzz of the sword’s presence faded from hearing. “Wulf, please!”

“Working on it!” Caleb called, and Beau risked a glance at him to see him fire a beam of black light from his hands to counter the beam of radiant sunlight pouring forth from Jester’s. They met in the middle and faded in a burst that left black and white spots dancing on Beau’s vision. Then he rounded on Beau and she had just enough time to see him twirl a small crystal rod through his fingers – immediately, the sky above was split with lighting, arcing down towards her, and she had no chance of getting out of the way in time.

Molly materialized beside her, scything his swords in a complicated arc above and around them both that seemed to split the lightning itself. It didn’t stop them from getting lit up like torches, electricity carving and tearing through them both before arcing off them to catch Fjord and Jester as well. But his final maledict fended off the spell enough to make what certainly would have been a lethal strike into merely an agonizing one that left them all howling, twitching, writhing, but still breathing. 

Then it was done, then it was over, the lightning faded and the Mighty Nein were still standing to a one. Beau dragged herself to stand up straight once more, whimpering as every muscle protested even that much, as she dragged herself against the weight of the slowing spell. She glanced right and saw Jester helping Fjord back up, glanced left and saw Molly slumped almost to the point of collapse, panting raggedly, bloodstained and bowed with pain. He couldn’t take much more of this and she knew it and—

_“Hey, tiefling!”_

\--they knew it, too.

Heart sinking, Beau looked down the street to see Eodwulf, battered and bloodied but standing tall before the slowly dissolving corpse of the barlgura. He had a hand held lazily up beside him like a server balancing a tray of drinks.

Except what he was actually balancing was an entire cart that had been tied up in front of a nearby building.

“Catch!” the vampire called merrily, and threw the cart at them both.

“Well fuck you, too,” Molly whispered, and that was all Beau had time to process before he barreled into her, shoving her forcibly out of the way just in time. She stumbled and whirled around just in time to see the cart hit him full on, sending him flying across the street to slam back into a wall hard enough that she heard an echoing _crack_ through the rain.

Then he fell to the ground, collapsed in a motionless heap.

Distantly, she heard Fjord and Jester calling out desperately:  _“Molly!” “Get up, please get up!”_  Distantly, she heard the sound of her own heart racing like a trapped rabbit.

She heard Caleb sigh softly in relief. “Well,” he said, mild and calm. “Three to go.”

“Come here, _kleines Mädchen_!” Eodwulf laughed, and Beau saw him charging for Jester. Fjord tried to get in the way, falchion at the ready, but the lightning had left him terribly wounded without Molly’s maledict to protect him. He wouldn’t last.

Beau ran to meet Eodwulf. She knew she’d never make it but she still had to _try_ , she couldn’t just watch another friend go down like she’d watched Molly. Except as she ran she realized that the rest of the world was starting to move as slowly as she was, and then she realized that everything else wasn’t slowing down, she was speeding up. The raw surge of adrenaline through her body born of seeing Molly taken down had burned Caleb’s spell from her limbs. She unleashed a flurry of blows on the vampire, driving her fists and feet into his face and torso and finally getting her fingers into a pressure point on his neck and _twisting_ so that his eyes went wide, unfocused, and stunned. He was helpless in the face of Fjord following up with an eldritch blast bright and powerful enough to knock him off his feet.

Beau had no time to feel any relief before another torrent of magic missiles streaked from the air to batter Fjord, each landing home with an unerring accuracy. He shuddered and jerked beneath each impact, and then when the light and clamor faded he fell hard to the ground. Of course, being who and what he was, Fjord was conscious again a second later, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath and pushing himself up on his arms. Jester struggled slowly over to him, wading through air as thick as molasses, and closed her hands around his upper arm to heave him up herself. As she did so, a bright flare of holy energy passed from her to him, healing in its most perfectly distilled form, leaving Fjord if not uninjured then certainly the least injured of them all.

“Beau,” Jester panted, visibly straining against the spell. “If, if you just stay close, I can heal you in a second…”

Beau narrowed her eyes at the two vampires still on their feet. “Get to Molly,” she said. “I’m gonna see if I can get the hat trick.” She felt almost too full of ki for her body to contain after being held back for so long – unleashing some on their foes would be a genuine pleasure. Molly, meanwhile, would die without help. The crack she’d heard could have been anything from his ribs to his skull to his spine.

“I’ve got a potion, I’ll get Molly,” Fjord said. “Jester, charge up the sun.”

Trusting one of them to sort it out, knowing how dire things were if they were determined to bust out Jester’s sunlight spell, Beau raced for Astrid, already drawing a fist back.

Caleb seemed entirely focused on Fjord and Jester, both in providing cover for Eodwulf to recover and in preventing Fjord from getting to Molly. Beau, meanwhile, was unable to make it to Astrid before she finished chanting another spell so that the ground opened up beneath Beau’s feet, sprouting a squirming, writhing mass of black tentacles which battered and grabbed for her. She took a beating but remained unrestrained long enough to get within arm’s reach.

“Beau, duck!” Jester cried, which told Beau everything she needed to know. Rather than going in for a punch, she went for a grapple, wrestling with Astrid and gaining ground for just a moment by virtue of shock alone. A moment was all she needed. She got Astrid’s arms pinned behind her back and used the leverage to get behind her and hold her in place so that the vampire took the sunbeam full in the chest. Astrid howled, struggling and writhing herself out of Beau’s grip as her body blackened and smoked. For a wild moment, Beau thought they might have done it, might have killed her.

But she didn’t dissolve, not yet, and Beau didn’t have any more time to fully assess the state of her. The moment of stillness she’d used to get her foe into position cost her dearly – one tentacle wrapped itself around her upper arm and the other through her hair, yanking her back with a vicious strength, back and off-balance.

Astrid heard her cry out and stumble and whipped round to face her again, snarling. She looked a ruin from Jester’s spell – her robes hung off her in tatters, revealing deadened, blackened skin beneath that spanned the entirety of her torso and up her neck. Her hair was a wild, scorched mane around her, her eyes were wide and feral, teeth bared and snarling and wasn’t it just her luck that the tentacles had her head pulled back so that her neck was bared…

Astrid lunged, grabbing Beau, pulling her close, going for the throat…

A bright flash of light streaked across Beau’s vision, and she heard the sound of flesh being butchered and burned, heard Astrid let out a cry that was abruptly cut off. Beau felt her restraints vanish and, as she blinked her vision clear, she saw that the writhing field of black tentacles was dissolving into nothing.

She saw Astrid’s body fall one way, Astrid’s head fall the other, and saw both dissolve into dust before they even hit the ground.

She saw who had saved her, and for a moment that felt like a lifetime Beau couldn’t breathe.

The specter was mostly featureless, but it was shaped like Mollymauk Tealeaf, a silhouette painted in radiant light. It had his red eyes and it was carrying his actual, physical swords which it had lit with light as well. As it apparently noticed her gaping it offered her a short nod before pointing with one of the swords back towards the remaining two vampires, apparently reminding her to get back to the fight.

Except, over its shoulder, she saw Molly, the _real_ Molly, still laying where he’d fallen in a motionless heap.

“What the _hell_?” Beau whimpered. It really did seem the only thing to say. As her vision cleared and her wits returned, she saw that the others were still staring as well in equal parts shock and horror. Eodwulf was back on his feet and Fjord was bracing himself on a wall, still a few feet from Molly’s body. Jester had frozen in the act of readying another sunbeam, and Caleb was actually shaking, fists clenched at his sides.

The ghost recovered first, apparently needing only a second to assess the situation before it charged Eodwulf. With a roar of fury, Caleb held out a hand and a beam of darkness so black it seemed to suck the light from the world fired from his fingers and connected solidly with the shade. The spell didn’t even make it flinch, didn’t slow it down as much as a step. Frightened and emboldened in the same breath, Beau chased after it and saw Fjord moving in as well.

Eodwulf looked from one side to the other, made a hasty decision, and unleashed a cone of cold that caught Fjord, Jester, and the ghost, but which Beau saw coming and leapt to the edges of just in time to avoid the worst of it. She circled around the howling torrent of ice and came at Eodwulf as fast as she could, feet pounding across the soaked cobblestones and splashing through the rain.

He was braced to throw her off when she tried to restrain him, but as the spell faded Fjord was still up and still there to pile on and aid her in keeping him in place. Jester, moving freely now, fired another sunbeam that caught him in the face. As painful as it seemed, it might even have been called a mercy when Molly’s shade finished it off with a few deft, vicious cuts.

Panting raggedly, alight with adrenaline, Beau pivoted on the spot, looking for Caleb.

She looked right past him before she realized what she was seeing, and it felt like the bottom had dropped out of the world. It felt like time was moving at a crawl so that even as she saw she was helpless to act or intervene.

She saw him pick up Molly’s body, saw him grab hold of Molly’s head, saw him _twist_ and heard the _crack_ and heard herself _scream_ and and and…

Caleb let Molly’s body fell back to the ground, utterly motionless now, neck broken, dead. In the same instant, the radiant ghost winked out of existence. The scimitars it had held fell uselessly to the ground, extinguished.

Jester and Fjord were screaming, too, but Beau was _howling_ her fury, now, _racing_ for Caleb with the force and rage of an oncoming bull. All his undead strength was nothing compared to her grief – she collided with him so hard that they both went down into the puddles and muck, wrestling and grappling, Caleb trying to tear her throat out with his teeth and Beau trying to keep him pinned with elbows and hands even as she fumbled for the vial of blood in her pocket.

“Jester, go!” she heard Fjord shouting. The words would have meant something in any other moment, but Beau was past the point of understanding anything but sounds and the piercing, overwhelming need to _finish this_. “Just, just go, we’ve got this!” But she understood it when he came to join her, helping her once again in keeping Caleb pinned. Even then, he nearly threw them both off until Fjord gritted his teeth and drove the falchion down hard through one of Caleb’s arms. Caleb cried out in agony, arching and twisting, and Beau realized wildly that even that wouldn’t stop him, he’d cut his arm to ribbons and meat for the sake of killing them all. He’d been trained for as much. It would only delay him, but a delay was all they needed.

God, she hoped Cree hadn’t been fucking with them.

Beau got the vial out, clenched tightly in her hands. She tore the cork out with her teeth then dug her fingers into his jaw, forcing his mouth open. “Drink it!” she yelled. “Drink it, god damn you!”

Jester, at least, had been right. Drinking blood was what a vampire did. All she had to do was get the vial forced between his teeth. Caleb’s own instincts did the rest. He gulped the mouthful of blood down immediately. This close, she saw his throat bob as he swallowed.

He went still, made a strangled choking sound, eyes going wide. Then, all at once, he let out a long, high-pitched wail of agony and distress, clutching at his head with his free hand, squirming and writhing as if trying to escape his own skin, crying out _“nein!”_ or _“bitte hor auf!”_ whenever he could draw in enough breath or thought to speak.

But the falchion kept him pinned and Beau would not be moved, until at last he went limp beneath her, shaking like a leaf, panting like a bellows, staring blindly at the sky with tears pouring from his red eyes.

Even then, the only thing that distracted her from her tense vigil was the sound of Molly drawing in a long, shuddering breath. “What hit me?” he whispered, as Jester let out a cry of joy and relief.

She still didn’t dare let herself hope until she actually looked over and laid eyes on him. But there he was, shaky but alive, struggling to sit up with Jester’s aid. Diamond dust glittered on his chest for a moment before the rain started to wash it away.

“Mollymauk?” she heard Caleb whisper, and then Beau yelped as she was suddenly, forcibly thrown off of him. She landed hard on her shoulder and heard an unpleasantly organic _tear_ echo through the air, accompanied by a groan of pain. When she blinked the rain out of her eyes it was to see Caleb on his feet, one arm ruined, heedless of both that and of Fjord’s attempts to draw him back from the two tieflings. They both looked up and tensed visibly at the sound of his approaching footsteps, and that was all the reason Beau needed to spring forward, dart around Caleb, and plant herself between him and them with her arms outstretched.

“Stay back,” she growled.

He stared at her in wounded disbelief. “What are you--?” He cut himself off with a frustrated noise, shaking his head. “Beauregard, he, he has no more power over me. That is what you wanted, yes? Well, it is what _I_ wanted, and it worked. I am fine, I am _me_ , just, just _please_ , let me see him.”

“I can’t trust that,” she said, though it broke her heart to say it. Her throat was tight and her eyes stung and she felt so _pathetic_ to be crying now that the dust was maybe, possibly settling. She hated herself for feeling so fragile, shaken, out of control. But even so, her voice was a strangled shout when she spoke again. “You fucking _killed him,_ Caleb, I can’t trust that!”

He drew back as if he’d been struck, sucking in a breath he didn’t need, moving as if to hug himself only to be brought up short by his damaged arm. He stared at it as if surprised to see himself bleeding. Not that he would be for long – the wound was already healing. She saw muscle and sinew growing and threading themselves together to repair what the falchion had torn.

“I—” he whispered, then screwed his eyes shut tight. “I don’t, I can’t, I mean—”

Beau dimly heard footsteps coming from behind her. She flinched when she felt a hand laid on her shoulder, felt it squeeze in reassurance. “Beauregard,” Molly said, in a high, distant voice. “Do be a dear and let him by.”

She turned her head to look him over, to reassure herself once again that he was alive. Not that it meant much else – he was barely standing, leaning on her for support now that he’d stepped out of Jester’s grasp. He was trembling, his eyes were glassy, and she could tell by the way he was walking that he absolutely still had some broken ribs. He’d also _thrown his soul_ out of his body so it could keep fighting, and she suspected that must have been exhausting even above and beyond the weakness resurrection always brought.

But his eyes were fixed on Caleb, and Beau could also feel him _straining_ with the urge to go to him. If she decided to hold him back, Beau knew he would let her. She also had the very definite sense that he would never quite forgive her.

She swallowed past exhaustion, pain, shock, tears. _On your own head be it,_ she thought, and stepped aside.

Molly all but fell into Caleb’s arms, but Caleb was there to catch him, letting out a broken little cry as he took in the state of the tiefling. “Oh, _Liebchen_ ,” he murmured with a fretful, anxious gentleness, drawing Molly to rest fully against him and taking his weight without issue. When Molly whimpered at some shift in his broken ribs, Caleb shifted his grip to accommodate for them. “I know, I know. My dearest, _mein Herz_ , it’s all right. I’m here, I’m _me_ , I’m—” She saw his expression contort before he buried his face in Molly’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m _sorry, vergib mir_ …”

Slowly, shaking, Molly’s arms came around Caleb to cling to him in turn. “Missed you,” he murmured, his voice sleepy and slurred but no less heartfelt for it. And then: “Love you.”

Caleb made a sound like a man just stabbed. Beau saw his knuckles go even paler as he held Molly to him. “ _Ich liebe dich_ ,” he stammered back. “And, and I never wanted to forget you, any of you.” He lifted his head to regard them all, shaken and pleading. “I swear it. I _tried_ to hold on, but that _thing_ , that _creature_ —”

Beau felt her breath catch at the sight of him – her heart was not made of stone, much as she sometimes wished it could be. She could not look at him and see a threat of deception.

But she could still see his red eyes, his deathly pale skin, and feel so tired to realize that the job wasn’t done yet.

“We know,” said Fjord softly, cutting off his protestations gently. Jester, who was already choking back tears, could only nod emphatically in agreement. “S’all right, Caleb.”

“Yeah,” Beau whispered. “We know.”

Molly murmured something that was indistinct but probably agreement, something that trailed away into silence, and Beau choked on a gasp when she saw him go limp in Caleb’s arms. But before Jester could take more than a couple of steps, Caleb had gently tilted his head back to check his pulse, and let out a sigh that was unmistakably relieved.

“Alive,” he said. “Just tired. Of course. It’s, ah, it’s been a long night.”

The sight of Caleb getting Molly settled over his shoulders in a rescuer’s carry with utter ease was still an immensely, immeasurably wrong one. But one glance at Fjord and Jester told her that none of them were in any fit state to carry him half as easily.

“We can’t go back to the hideout,” she said. There was no way she was putting kids in the path of whatever was coming next. There was no way she was inviting a vampire into their midst.

“What if we went back to the Tomb Takers?” Jester ventured hesitantly.

Fjord nodded wearily. “We killed two fuckin’ vampires tonight,” he said. “That’s gotta get us _some_ credit, yeah?” He glanced at Caleb and winced. “No offense?”

Caleb’s mouth drew into a tight, bitterly amused smile. “None taken.” He considered the matter for a moment, then nodded. “Safety in numbers. Worth a try. Now, come.” He started off down the street. “We’ve made quite a fuss tonight. The Crownsguard will be here soon, or else the Righteous Brand. Time to get off the streets for a while.”

As they limped and staggered towards some hope of safety, Jester whispered a prayer under her breath, then started counting on her fingers. “Uh, Yasha, Nott? We’re not going back to the hideout. We’re going to see the Tomb Takers. We have Caleb with us. And he’s not with Trent anymore.”

“Twenty-eight words, blueberry,” Caleb said. “And the last part is sort of important."

With shaking fingers, Jester cast again. “We fed him Trent’s blood so he’s okay now. I mean he’s still a vampire but he’s our friend again. And Fjord and I have stuff to tell you. Okay. See you soon. Love you.”

“Over the limit again,” Caleb said. “But I’m sure they got the idea.”

All the while, all Beau could think was that Jester hadn’t gone over the limits of a sending spell in such a long time.

It really had been a long damn night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hey! We saw some cool abilities from Molly in this fight, yeah? Here's a quick rundown of them:
> 
> "Blood Curse of the Fending Rite: When an enemy casts a spell that requires a Dexterity saving throw, you can use your reaction to deflect the spell with your crimson rite. You gain a bonus to the initial saving throw against that spell equal to your Wisdom modifier (minimum of 1). This curse is invoked before the saving throw is rolled. Amplify. You grant all allies within 5 feet of you this bonus to their saving throw against the triggering spell as well."
> 
> "Supernal Surge: Upon reaching 11th level, you’ve learned to briefly step into the spirit world, enabling a swift and deadly strike. When you use the Attack action on your turn, you can expend a use of this feature to attack three times, instead of twice, and you temporarily become spectral. Until the end of your next turn, you can move through other creatures and objects as if they were difficult terrain. You take 1d10 force damage if you end your turn inside an object. If you are inside an object when you are no longer spectral, you are immediately shunted to the nearest unoccupied space that you can occupy and take force damage equal to twice the number of feet you moved. You may expend a use of this feature as a bonus action instead of making an attack. You can use this feature a number of times equal to your Wisdom modifier (a minimum of once). You regain all expended uses when you finish a short or long rest."
> 
> "Vengeful Spirit: Upon reaching 18th level, you learn to project your spirit to fight on while on the edge of death. Whenever your hit points drop to 0, you can choose to let your soul emerge from your body to fight on. Your body remains unconscious and subject to death saving throws per normal. At the beginning of your next turn, you manifest a spirit form in your space that picks up your weapons and continues fighting on, acting on your turn and every one of your subsequent turns under your control. Your spirit form has your physical attributes and armor class, as well as your weapons and ammunition, and can move through other creatures and objects as if they were difficult terrain. This form is immune to cold, necrotic, and non-magical weapon damage. Your spirit form has access to all of your abilities and suffers no damage from your Crimson Rite feature. If your spirit form takes any damage, your body dies, or you regain any hit points, your spirit form vanishes. If your spirit form vanishes, it drops your weapons in its space."
> 
> And listen. Listen. I know Molly's not 18th level yet. But y'know, stress and adrenaline can drive someone on to feats they wouldn't normally be capable of. And we don't *technically* know what level Lucien was. Technically, Molly could have just had a flash of remembering an ability he had all along.
> 
> Also, the last couple of chapters have involved a lot of shit Happening to Molly. I decided he needed the chance to well and truly Happen to other people instead.


	12. Dawn Draws Near

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mighty Nein, together again at long last, take some time to reconvene, catch their breath, and compare notes. Jester and Fjord reveal their final goal. Caleb reveals that he has some doubts, as well as some new powers.

They nearly got thrown out of the inn as soon as they arrived. Molly still looked a _little_ like a corpse, after all, especially as deeply senseless as he was. That alone might have been enough to get the innkeeper’s attention. It was definitely enough to alarm the three Tomb Takers who had otherwise been enjoying a late round of drinks. Cree was up out of her seat, drawing a rapier, as soon as she recognized not only who was slung over Caleb’s shoulders but what Caleb actually was.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Jester stammered, before either vampire or tabaxi could open their mouths. She hastily placed herself between the two, waving her arms in a gesture for all involved to hold on. “It’s okay! He’s on our side now! And, and Molly’s okay, too! He’s just really tired because he did a really weird thing and none of us knows what it was.”

“There is no such thing as a vampire on anyone’s side but their own!” Cree snarled. Jester winced and darted a hasty glance around the inn to see who might be listening. Too many people, as it turned out.

“We killed the other two,” Beau said in an attempt at placation. “We’re going to fix this.”

“That means _nothing_ about his intentions!” Cree snapped.

“Excuse me, Jester,” Caleb said from behind her, very quietly. She glanced back as he moved to stand beside her instead, tilting somewhat so as not to hit her in the head with Molly. She saw that his eyes were fixed on Cree and narrowed slightly.

“I think,” he said. “That we should all sit down and have a quiet talk about this. I think we can help one another. That will serve us better than sniping at each other while Trent Ikithon remains free to do as he pleases, hm? We will get Mister Mollymauk settled into bed, and then we will all eat something, and then we will talk about what comes next. I think, for the time being at least, we can be friends. What do you think, Cree?”

Jester’s breath caught in her throat – she felt a strange, humming tension in the air that seemed to go deeper than high-strung feelings. She saw Cree sway on the spot and then slowly, slowly, she saw the tension bleeding from her shoulders.

A memory came to her in a flash as sharp and hard as a blade. _“Why are you fighting me?” Maxwell whispered as Beau struggled to escape his grasp. “Why can’t we just be friends, like Lucien was supposed to be?”_ She bit back a gasp, curled her hands into fists at her sides to keep from crying out in shock and dismay.

She hated herself just a little for keeping quiet, for feeling even a faint relief when Cree slowly nodded. “All right,” she said. When this caused her two companions to cry out in surprise and indignation, she rounded on them and hissed: “This is not the time for that! He’s right – we both have bigger things to worry about. We share a mutual foe. Once that foe is dead, we can deal with this leech. Yes?”

Her tone brooked no disobedience, and so they did not disobey. Their nods were grudging and they glared daggers at Caleb over Cree’s shoulders – Jester wondered wildly if they knew what he’d done, too. But they kept their weapons sheathed and eventually returned, grumbling and wary, to their seats. Caleb told Cree to follow them "just for now", and she did so without a word.

From there, the Nein rented two rooms from the deeply suspicious innkeeper, who miraculously got much less suspicious when Caleb exchanged a few quiet words with him. Jester caught sight of Beau and Fjord’s faces as he did so. She knew at a glance that they’d jumped to the very same conclusion she had, and liked it just as little. But the end result was Molly settled safely into a bed with Caleb’s silver thread wrapped round the room, and the promise of a meal waiting for the rest of them downstairs.

Before they went downstairs, however, Fjord cleared his throat. “Hey.” They all looked back at him, even Caleb, just in time for Fjord to step forward and pull the very startled wizard into a hug.

“We missed you, too,” he said gruffly, his voice muffled against Caleb’s shoulder.

“We sure did,” Beau agreed softly, picking at her wrappings and watching them both. “A whole hell of a lot. Don’t do that to us again, man.”

Caleb’s arms slowly, awkwardly, came around Fjord. He patted the half-orc twice on the back in a way that was so very _him_ that Jester finally remembered how to smile. It seemed to satisfy Fjord as well. He stepped away, offered Caleb a watery smile and an equally awkward clap on the shoulder, then stepped away so Jester could come and throw her arms around him, too. He hugged her back after only a few second’s hesitation, which was entirely normal for Caleb even now. “Welcome home, Caleb.”

He pressed his head against her shoulder for a moment. “Thank you,” he whispered. And then: “I did miss you. All of you.”

“We know!” She gave him one last squeeze, then pulled away and kissed his forehead. “Now come on! Let’s go and eat.” She exchanged a glance with Fjord over Caleb’s shoulder. “We have a _lot_ of stuff to talk about.”

“Wait,” Beau said, as they all turned towards the stairs. “Caleb, uh…” She flushed visibly as they all turned to look back at her. Finally, she gestured awkwardly at her throat. “Do you want to eat now, or…?” Words apparently failed her, and she trailed away with a helpless shrug.

Silence fell with all the heavy finality of an axe. Jester was left looking helplessly back and forth between her two friends. Caleb’s expression was closed-off as a bank vault, his eyes shadowed.

“I’ll be fine,” he said flatly. Then he started for the stairs again, motioning over his shoulder. “Come, let’s go.”

For lack of anything better to do, and because the fancy canapes at the ball really did feel like forever ago, they followed him.

They all got a seat at their own table, a short distance from Cree and her people. They ordered food in the biggest portions available, all except for Caleb who simply asked for an ale.

They were still waiting for it to arrive when the familiar bulk of Yasha and the diminutive figure of Nott both stumbled in from out of the rain, followed by a figure Jester didn’t recognize. Neither of the two women were in any mood to make introductions – within three paces, Nott’s eyes fixed on Caleb with all the inevitability of a sunrise. “Caleb!” she cried, racing for him. At the sound of her voice, Caleb immediately shoved himself up from his seat and hurried to meet her. They met in the middle of the floor, Nott leaping into Caleb’s waiting arms and clinging to him with all four limbs. Immediately, they started babbling, talking over each other in their haste to catch up and reassure. Jester was distracted from listening in on the happy reunion, however, by the sight of Yasha coming over to lay a heavy hand on Beau’s shoulder.

The two exchanged another few words, which ended in Yasha making a beeline for the stairs without a backward glance. No one moved to stop her. Jester thought privately that she would honestly feel better with someone properly keeping watch over Molly.

“—really like your eyes!” Nott was saying, as she finally drew closer to join her friends. Caleb had not set her down yet and neither of them seemed in a hurry for him to do so. The green dragonborn who’d come in with Nott and Yasha brushed past Jester to join the Tomb Takers. “They look cool. Fierce!” She curled her fingers to show off her claws, baring her teeth. “Grr!”

Caleb chuckled, his face alight and proud. “Thank you, Nott.” Tilting his head, he added: “I suppose I have you and Yasha to thank for, ah, clearing my head?”

“You sure do!” Nott said proudly. She glanced around for Yasha. “Guess she went upstairs. Oh, and Tyff’s back with his friends. Thank _fuck_ , I thought we’d never get him out of our hair. But we showed that ooze but good. I wish you could have seen it.”

“You will have to tell me all about it later,” Caleb said, carrying her back to the table and sitting her down next to him. “First, let’s get you fed.”

Jester caught herself dwelling on how much more comfortable Caleb seemed around Nott than the rest of them. That had always been true to some degree, of course, but less and less as time went on. Now, it seemed almost like he’d regressed.

Then she caught sight of Yasha coming back down the stairs, and Jester understood in a heartbeat. Oh. Right. Nott and Caleb didn’t have the specter of a desperate battle in the rain and three deaths hanging between them like he did with Jester, Fjord, and Beau.

“I only want to have some food ready for when he wakes up,” Yasha said without preamble, squeezing in between Fjord and Beau.

“Well, stick around a minute longer,” Fjord said. “We want to tell you what we found tonight.”

Jester nodded emphatically. “Yeah!” With a grand sweep of her hand towards Caleb, she declared: “We know how to make you human again!”

He didn’t seem quite as excited about this as she would have thought – mostly shocked, taken aback, uncertain. She saw his gaze dart left, then right. “O-Oh?” he stammered. Then: “Um, how?”

Jester and Fjord exchanged a look, before they each launched into their half of the story. They’d barely had time to put the pieces together while hiding in the palace grounds before they’d realized that Molly must be in trouble. The events of the next couple of hours had very nearly driven it all out of their mind.

“So Lady Vess DeRogna says that Ikithon took a very important artifact from the Cerberus Assembly vaults!” Jester said in a loud whisper, leaning in. “Something they’ve had since they were first founded, since the war! It’s supposed to be a way to bend reality to your will. Like wishing on a star, except it’ll actually happen!”

“And he’s got it because he thinks he can use it to end the war,” Fjord said. “And he thinks he can end the war by, uh. Ending Xhorhas. I didn’t understand a lot of what he was talking about, but I think the basic idea is that if he can cast this spell from the heart of Xhorhas, like ideally right on the Bright Queen’s own fuckin’ throne, and if he mixes in a little dunamancy along with it? Boom. Most of Xhorhas as we know it ceases to exist because it never was.”

Beau snorted derisively, folding her arms and tipping her chair back. “Except instead of him, it was gonna be you three and any other poor bastards he could turn,” she said. “Not surprised. If a plan like that went wrong, it’d go wrong in a big way. Messing with magic like that, he was probably planning on all of you not coming back.”

“So it’s actually a really good thing that we’re going to steal that spell and use it on you instead, Caleb!” Jester finished, clapping her hands brightly. “We’ll be saving a _lot_ of lives that way, not just yours’!” She spread her arms wide, very nearly hitting Beau and Nott in the nose. “Ta-da!”

Caleb looked utterly at a loss, eyes wide, pale to the point of ghostliness. He sat back in his seat at her declaration, blinking dazedly, before finally smiling tentatively. “That is,” he said, in a strange sort of voice. “That is wonderful to hear. Very exciting.” He bowed his head, adding: “Thank you all.”

“Oh!” Nott gasped. She got down from her seat and scurried over to all but burrow into Yasha’s pack. “We stole a lot of papers from his laboratory! I wonder if any of them is the scroll we need?” She extracted books and folders and papers, all of which she piled up in front of Caleb. He shuffled through them with his typical deftness, eyes scanning back and forth rapidly, before he shook his head.

“No, but I, ah, I did not think it would be,” he said. “These are all useful, but not significant. Not powerful, in the way that spell would be. Something like that, I expect he keeps on his own person, at all times. He would not trust anyone else, any other spell, and he would not expect anyone to be foolish enough to attack him directly for it.”

They all laughed. Nott tapped herself proudly on the chest. “Too bad for him!” she said declared, chin in the air. “We are _definitely_ that foolish.”

Even Caleb laughed, though it was weak and shaky, as he ruffled her hair. “So you are,” he said. “More’s the pity for him.”

They were distracted from making any further plans by the welcome arrival of food. Yasha immediately took hers’ and Molly’s plates in hand and got to her feet. “I will catch him up on what the plan is,” she said. “And tell you when he’s awake.” They all murmured their agreement and understanding, though she turned and started back towards the stairs without waiting for it.

For a short time, things were comfortable and almost normal, as they rest of the Nein tucked into their food with a will. The events of the night had left them starving but, between bites, they still tried to fill the empty space with easy, meaningless chatter. Only Caleb did not eat, merely taking sips from his ale every now and then, except after a while Jester noticed that the level of drink in the tankard wasn’t actually getting any lower. She wondered if any of the others noticed, and decided not to mention it either way.

As they were gnawing on chicken bones a while later, or else mopping up the last of the grease with heels of bread, Yasha came back downstairs to tell them that Molly was awake, “but I’m making him stay in bed.” None of them could argue with the sense of this decision, and were happy to retire upstairs to see him instead. Jester caught herself stifling a yawn as she stepped up onto the second-floor landing – it was hard to tell by the windows, given how grey and rainy it still was outside, but she felt like it had to be getting close to morning. Sleep was seeming increasingly tempting.

But her weariness was chased a little further from her mind when she came back into the room and saw Molly, alert and sitting up in bed waiting for them. “So you all finally decided to come and visit me!” he chirped.

“Sure did,” Beau said, punching him gently on the shoulder. “Not like you deserve it, after all the trouble you caused.”

“Asshole,” he said fondly.

“Bastard,” she answered, just as warmly, before she stole one of the room’s chairs and sat down backwards in it.

Molly’s attention fixed on Caleb next. His expression went soft as down and achingly sweet, so much so that Jester felt her heart flutter sympathetically in time with his. “Hey, you,” he said, holding out his arms. “Come here.”

Caleb hesitated for only a second, then he he huffed out a faint little laugh and went to sit on the bed beside Molly. Immediately, Molly leaned against him, cuddling close with his head on Caleb’s shoulder. Caleb wrapped an arm around Molly’s shoulders in turn and rested his head on top of Molly’s. The tiefling’s eyes fell closed and he let out a contented sigh. “Yasha, dear, don’t think you’re getting away that easily,” he added, patting the bed on his other side. Yasha chuckled lightly before moving to do as she was bidden, sitting down and letting him wrap his tail around her ankle.

“All right,” Molly said at last, apparently deeming himself sufficiently comfortable. He cracked one eye half open to regard them all with a surprising degree of alertness. “So. How are we going to murder the absolute living daylights out of Trent Ikithon?”

“Well, however we do it, _nothing_ else is happening tonight,” Fjord said adamantly, to absolutely no complaint from anyone else. “We all need a real rest.”

“It’s getting close to dawn,” Caleb said. “We might as well sleep through until tomorrow evening.”

“No arguments there,” Beau said, stretching long and languid.

“And when we’re all rested up, I really don’t see what we have to be scared of!” Nott added happily. “I mean, he’s just one old man. And sure he knows some magic, but so do you, Caleb! We can keep him distracted and divide his attention, and then I bet you can take him out!” She mimed punching an invisible foe once or twice. “We outnumber him _nein_ to one! I like those odds.”

Caleb’s smile went tight and strained. “Nott the Brave,” he said. “That is one of the most foolish things you have ever said.” But Nott only had a moment to look hurt before Caleb’s expression went thoughtful, as he rubbed his chin pensively. “Still. We have had more foolish plans. There is one problem with this one, though – I _can’t_ recover my magic.”

Beau immediately sat up straight, and Molly’s eyes flew properly open. Jester felt her heart drop into her stomach – why couldn’t they get a _break_? “Say _what_ now?” the monk asked warily.

“I said exactly what I mean,” Caleb said. “I need rest, to recover my spells. Sleep. And that is not an option right now.”

“But, but vampires do sleep!” Jester insisted, worry and panic gnawing anew at her chest. “We know that! When we had to fight Maxwell, we counted on that! On attacking him before he could sleep and get all his spells back.” It was probably one of the only reasons they’d been able to overpower him in the end.

She didn’t miss the way that Caleb and Molly both flinched at the sound of the name, but didn’t immediately think anything of it, beyond a pang of familiar sympathy for all he’d done to the two of them especially.

“Virago had a resting place of his own,” Caleb said, his voice still brutally steady. “I don’t. Not anymore.”

“The heck does that mean?” Fjord asked, folding his arms and tilting his head.

“Do you need, like, a coffin?” Jester wondered, flashing back to Maxwell’s coffin she’d found hidden in a hollow under the floorboards.

Caleb shook his head. “I, ah, I don’t think the coffin is important, in and of itself. It’s only that it’s something easy to hide, and something that can be shielded from the sun. No, what seems to be the important part is gravesoil. Enough to sleep on.”

“From the place where you were buried and rose again,” Molly murmured, in that distant way he sometimes got when he was remembering without knowing why. He looked uncomfortable when this made all eyes turn towards him. “But Ikithon skipped that part, didn’t he?”

“ _Ja_. When I woke up, it was on the floor, still in the circle.”

“And you still need the dirt?”

Caleb nodded. “We, er—” His fingers twisted in his lap, and Jester saw him clench his hands together to try and hide it, stop it. His eyes were distant, too, seeing back, reflecting on his time enslaved now that he had his own mind again. Jester wanted to go to him and hug him, but got the sad sense that he would rebuff her if she tried, he would be too ashamed to let her. “I got curious, once, and tried to sleep without it. Nothing. It was like I had forgotten what sleep _was_.”

“But when you could sleep,” Nott said. “That means it was probably just ordinary dirt, right?”

He shrugged. “Ah, perhaps. If he did something special to it, I never saw. I wouldn’t know.”

“So hypothetically speaking, if we just went and dug up a graveyard and filled up a sack, maybe you’d be good?” Fjord added.

“In the morning,” Caleb said immediately, emphatically. “Sunrise is, is only a couple of hours off. But with our luck, you would meet an _actual_ vampire if you went out now.”

“Don’t even worry about it,” Beau said, just as firmly. “No one’s going anywhere tonight. Doctor’s orders.”

“But when the sun does come up,” Nott added. “Fjord and I can go. We seem to be the two who look the least like shit. The rest of you can get a jump on sleep.”

“Especially with me to keep watch,” Caleb said, nodding.

Everyone agreed that this was probably the most sensible choice. Fjord was the least injured out of all of them, after the healing spell Jester had cast on him, and only needed an hour or so to recover his magic if all else failed. Nott, meanwhile, had been quick enough on her feet to escape serious damage in the fight against the oblex. Whereas Yasha’s shoulders were bowed with weariness, the little goblin still seemed alert.

It would be nice to have Caleb keeping watch over them again. It would be nice to sleep safely within the boundaries of the silver wire again, maybe even especially with the promise of Caleb turning all his undead power to the task of standing guard over them. The promise of true safety for the first time in weeks made Jester appreciate all over again how well and truly exhausted she was.

Caleb caught sight of her stifling a yawn – he smiled fondly at her and she grinned sheepishly back. “There’s only one more thing I want to say before we all settle in,” he said, turning his attention back to the room. “We don’t have to get into it now. I just want to put it as a, um—” He frowned, snapping his fingers a couple of times, and Jester bit back a giggle. Common could still give him trouble on occasion. “A bug. In your ear. Something for you all to mull over.”

“Sure thing, Caleb,” Fjord said, leaning back in his chair, as the others murmured their agreement. “Shoot.”

Caleb took a deep breath, and Jester only realized then that she hadn’t _actually_ seen him breathe except to speak since they’d gotten back to the inn. “Are we certain that using this wish to make me human again is the best use of it?”

Silence fell, sudden and stifling, and for a wild moment Jester was afraid she might have forgotten to breathe, too. Molly reacted the most violently of all of them, sitting bolt upright and glaring at Caleb as if he’d never seen him before.

“Exactly what the hell else would we use it for?” he asked, his voice low and thrumming with anger.

Caleb, meanwhile, seemed unmoved by Molly’s visible distress. He simply made an impatient noise, flicking a hand, as if the question was barely worth considering. “So many other things, countless other things,” he said. “We, we could establish ourselves with safety, _power_ , of the sort that even the King could not match. Or, if you are determined to help me, we could bring Astrid and Eodwulf back.”

“Why would we make them human again and not you, Caleb?” Nott asked quietly. She was cradling her flask in shaking hands, staring at him unblinking.

“You wouldn’t _,_ obviously. You would bring them back as they were before you killed them.”

Molly all but recoiled. “Which we only did because they were making a damn good go of killing us first!” He sounded well and truly hurt, even if he also sounded like he was attempting to hide it with a snarl in his voice.

Now Caleb was glaring at Molly, too, and Jester felt tears in her eyes and a sob in her chest because she had never seen them look at each other like that before. To see it now after all they’d been through somehow seemed the most brutally unfair thing of all.

“I understand that,” he said, slow and clear as if talking to an especially ignorant child. “You were put in, in an impossible situation. Of course I know that. That was our goal. But they were also victims of Trent’s control, just as I was, and his control over them _would_ be broken upon his death. Then they would be free to join us, help us! Honestly, why would I ask you to make them _weak_ again? Why would I ask you to make _me_ weak again?”

“You weren’t _weak_ , Caleb!” Jester burst out, scant seconds before Molly opened his mouth to doubtless say the same thing. She couldn’t contain herself any longer, couldn’t _hear this_ any longer, not when tears were in her eyes and she felt physically sick with grief. “You were our friend who wouldn’t _burn up_ in the sun and we _loved you!_ ”

Somehow, it was this that got his attention, truly broke him out of his impatient certainty and made him _look_ at her. Their eyes met and Jester refused to blink or look away, willing him with all her heart to see the sincerity in her words. So instead, it was Caleb who wavered first. She saw something _crack_ in his expression, something wounded and lost and _confused_ , and he was staring at her like he genuinely could not understand a word she was saying but also like he dearly, dearly wanted to.

The attempt at understanding wasn’t enough to soothe Molly. In one sudden, graceless movement, he shoved himself up to his feet. Standing up made him sway dangerously, but he waved off Yasha’s outstretched hand, steeling himself with a visible effort of will before finally managing to hold on to his balance.

“I’m going downstairs,” he muttered, looking at her but addressing them all. “I need a drink.”

Beau let out a frustrated huff. “Do you see yourself? That’s a _shitty_ idea.”

“So what else is new?!” Molly snapped, turning just enough to glower at her before he turned his back on them all and stalked towards the door. The _slam_ of it closing behind him made them all flinch, even Caleb.

A few seconds ticked by with the silence like a physical weight on them all, preventing movement, preventing speech. The best they could manage was uncomfortably and anxiously sharing glances. But finally, Beau gave herself a shake as if to physically clear her head, then got to her feet far more easily and rolled her shoulders. “Fuck this,” she said, and went to grab Molly’s plate where he’d left it on the bedside table before she started for the door. Somehow, Jester only noticed as her friend passed by with it that Molly had barely eaten a bite.

Yasha half-rose as if to follow Beau, but Beau reached out to rest a restraining hand on Yasha’s arm. Something passed between them, something deep and raw that Jester couldn’t have begun to read.

“I think,” was all Beau said out loud. “He needs to see someone he doesn’t respect right now.”

Yasha grinned weakly. “If you say so,” she said, and there was actually the barest hint of a tired laugh in her voice. Then she sat back properly on the bed, and Beau left the room.

Caleb had been sitting and staring at his lap ever since Molly left. Even after the door closed for a second time, he remained still as stone until Jester quietly, tentatively called his name. Then he lifted his head, staring at the remaining Mighty Nein as if dimly surprised to still see them there.

“I—” he began, and then closed his mouth. He tried again to speak, gave up, and finally shook his head before getting to his feet. “Excuse me,” he mumbled, then went after Beau and Molly, leaving the other four behind.

They let the silence linger for a few moments, each of them lost to their own thoughts and shared worries, though the air was a little easier to breathe with the other three gone. It was Fjord who first tried to speak – before he could get more than a word out, however, Nott held up a quieting hand. She scurried hastily towards the door, then pressed her ear against the wood and listened so hard that Jester tried to not even breathe too loudly.

“Okay,” Nott whispered at last, giving a short nod before hastening back to her seat. “I think the coast is clear.” She glanced sidelong at Fjord, adding: “And I think you and I are having the same idea.”

Fjord nodded, arms folded, looking grim. “I think we might be, yeah.” He made an effort to sit up straight despite the weariness weighing on him, giving first Jester and then Yasha a nod before he took a deep, steadying breath. “I think we need to make a backup plan in case Caleb tries to steal that fucking wish out from under us.”


	13. Crash and Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mollymauk reflects on a very long night. Beau is there to catch him when he breaks at long last.

“Oh, no. We are  _ not _ doing this right now.”

Molly let out a heartfelt groan, burying his face in his hands. “Go  _ fuck  _ yourself, Beau. I need this.”

He felt her draw up beside him, practically radiating rage and frustration. The rage and frustration churning in his own heart left him with no room to relate. “Cancel that order before I break your nose,” she growled at the bartender.

Molly knew he couldn’t even begin to be half as intimidating as Beau could when she was in a mood, but he remembered wildly that he  _ did _ have one trick left to him. He lifted his head to smile at the other man.  _ “Don’t worry about her,”  _ he purred, pouring all the poisonously sweet charm into his voice that he could.  _ “I’ll pay you double, on my honor, just—” _

Beau laid a heavy hand on his shoulder, dug two fingers into a seemingly random spot, and  _ twisted _ . It didn’t hurt, not really, it just made everything go numb and out of focus for a minute so that he briefly forgot how to string a coherent sentence together, let alone a charmed one. Needless to say, his half-baked plea which ended in a pathetic gurgle did nothing to change the bartender’s mind, and in fact the man hastened away under the pretense of dealing with other customers, leaving Molly and Beau to themselves. 

Before he could entirely recover himself, Beau had grabbed him by an arm and heaved him off his seat. It was a minor miracle that Molly’s knees didn’t give out. “Come on,” she said. “Back upstairs.”

“Fuck that and fuck you! I  _ can’t _ see him right now!” He hated the way his voice wavered traitorously, and hated her for bringing that out of him.

Beau was unmoved, both by his words and his efforts to dig in his heels. “Good, because you’re not going to. We’re gonna talk. You and me.” She started to drag him towards the stairs.

“What the hell gives you the right to decide that and just drag me around?!”

She whipped around and he had just enough time to see her clenched teeth and teary eyes before stars exploded in his vision and pain bloomed across his jaw. Molly staggered with a yelp, but she caught him before he could fall. 

And then she wasn’t just catching him, she was hugging him and she was sobbing. “Because you’re my  _ friend  _ and I’m  _ fucking scared for you!”  _ she snapped, her voice muffled against his shoulder so that maybe, hopefully, the entire bar didn’t have to hear her. 

Really, what could he even say to that? She might as well have gutted him or torn his throat out, for all the words he had. Molly went limp in her arms, barely standing, his arms hanging at his sides, staring at nothing through a film of tears in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” was all that came out. He took a painful, hiccupping breath, then tried again, but still somehow all he could make himself say was: “I’m sorry.”

She breathed in once, twice. He realized dully that she was trying to guide him in breathing with her. He tried – it was hard, but after what might have been minutes or hours for all he knew, she seemed satisfied. Beau let him go and stepped back, scrubbing at her eyes with bruised knuckles.

“Then come upstairs,” she said. “And  _ fucking  _ eat something.” Something in his expression made her soften, or at least took the edge off her rage. She reached out a hand, and he saw himself take it. With her other hand, she took up the plate of cold food that she’d left on the bar when she’d stopped to harangue him, then brought both back upstairs.

He didn’t quite remember walking with her, but he must have, because it seemed like Molly blinked and suddenly Beau was sitting him down on a bed – not the one he’d been sleeping in before, this room was empty but for him and her. Of course, they would have rented more than one. That made sense.

As soon as he was sitting, Molly suddenly felt so exhausted that he  _ ached _ . And that made no sense, he was probably the only one of them who’d gotten  _ any _ sleep so far tonight. “I’m  _ so _ tired,” he whispered in equal parts despair and disbelief, shaking his head in a vain attempt to clear it.

Beau snorted, sitting down in a chair by the bed and starting to rummage through her pack. “No fucking kidding. You slept, what, maybe an hour? And you had the longest night out of any of us.” She darted a glance up at him, one that lingered on his cheek. Her mouth twisted in displeasure, even a bit of guilt. “Sorry I punched you,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t have done that. Especially when it looks like someone else already beat me to it.” 

He stared, trying to focus on her, feeling disconnected from his own eyes and having no clue what she was talking about. Then Beau moved to rub a hand along her throat, her eyes still fixed on him. He moved unconsciously to mimic her, only to wince when he found his neck littered with painful bruises and oh.

Oh.

It all came back, then, after everything that had followed had nearly driven it out of his mind entirely. 

_ Standing trapped and frozen in his own body, surrounded by three laughing monsters, including one wearing the face of the man he loved. Being marched off to an uncertain but no doubt terrible fate. _

_ Maxwell Virago, back again, because of course Molly was never allowed to be safe in his own life, was he? The helplessness, the anger, and the fear that drowned it out. Struggling with all he had because surrender was unthinkable and yet knowing as sure as moonrise that he was going to die. It would just be a matter of whether Maxwell decided to kiss the life out of him or choke the air from his lungs and either way he would make it slow and painful and frightening and he would smile all the while.  _

_ The moment of hope at seeing Caleb again had only made the renewed rush of cold despair even worse. He remembered running from Caleb the way he remembered fleeing beasts in his nightmares. _

_ Running with the others and feeling the chill go down his spine as he realized there would be no outrunning these monsters. Standing with Beau, pleading with Caleb against all odds to see them, to come back, to  _ fight _.  _

_ Gods. Caleb really had set him on fire, hadn’t he?  _

_ Fighting, struggling, pulling out all the stops, everything he had, bleeding for the friends he had left and yet knowing that all their foes had to do was outlast them. Racing to Beau’s rescue to try and fend off the lightning even a little. Seeing the cart coming, doing some ruthlessly quick mental math, and saving her one more time because she honestly had a better chance of living through the night than he did anyway. _

_ A sense of tremendous, bone-shattering impact, and then nothing. _

_ A sense of being split down the middle so that he was in two places at once and half of him knew nothing but bloodthirst and rage, saw nothing but three monsters that needed to be killed if it was the last thing he did. _

_ Half of him knew only a sense of being picked up off the ground by familiar but cold hands. There was an instant of pain in his neck, and then nothing. _

_ Because Caleb had killed him. _

_ He’d woken up with diamond dust on his chest  _ because Caleb had killed him _.   _

Molly flinched violently as the sense of hands on him brought him back to reality. But these hands were warm and calloused and they gently drew him close so his head was resting against her chest and her arms were around him. Shielding him.  _ Safe _ .

He took one hitching breath, and then another and another, and each hiccupping, whimpery inhale shook up the dam he’d already had to hastily reconstruct so many times tonight.

Until at last it came down, and he fell apart with it. 

He curled up in the safety she offered him where no one else could see and he  _ wept _ . The tears were ugly, noisy, painful, the sobs more like those of a dying animal than anything a humanoid should make. Grief, shock, pain, terror, everything he’d been trying to avoid all night caught him up like a leaf in a typhoon and would not let him go so that all he could do was feel it, endure it. 

But at least someone was there to make sure the pieces of him couldn’t be scattered too far. 

It felt like hours before he could speak again, before his mind and his mouth could even attempt to form words. Even then, all he could say was “I’m so tired, I’m  _ so _ tired,” over and over again, a stumbling, stammering tide along with the tears. He was stuck on those three words, the same way he sometimes still got stuck on  _ empty, empty, empty.  _

That thought made him choke on panic because no no no, he  _ needed _ his words, there was still so much to do and he could not lose his words now…

“Molly? Molly, hey. I need you to breathe, okay? You’re, you’re hyperventilating, you need to—” Someone, somewhere, let out a frustrated sigh.  _ “Fuck.” _ Dimly, he felt fingers settling just under his shoulder-blades before they twisted  _ up  _ and  _ in  _ and for just a moment, the vice around his chest loosened so he could draw in a few deep, gulping breaths. Before the vice could return, her hands moved, one to the middle of his chest, one to his back. She pressed in slowly, then eased up on the pressure just in slowly. After what felt like a minor eternity, he managed to grab onto understanding by the tips of his fingers – he breathed out when she pressed in, breathed in when she relaxed. Everything felt numb and distant and grey but for the warm pressure of her hands. There, at least, was something he could cling to and draw sense from. 

“Okay. Okay, that’s good. There you go, that’s it.”

“I’m so tired,” he whispered. Still not the words he needed, but more words than he’d had a moment ago. That was also something to cling to. He drew in one last deep breath, and somehow the words that left him next were, “I’m  _ so  _ hungry.”

She –  _ Beau _ laughed, a wet, weak, exhausted sound. “ _ I  _ could have told you that,” she said. She tried to guide him to sit up. Molly was a little reluctant, but didn’t fight her on it. He blinked owlishly when he was finally, properly upright under his own power again, staring around the room as if it was all new to him. Everything had gone from grey and distant to bright and oversharp. “I mean, I’m  _ pretty _ sure I did? But look, I get it. Shock is a fucker. You probably honestly thought you weren’t hungry.”

Molly nodded, even managing a mumbled agreement. He remembered Yasha putting the plate in front of him just after he’d woken up. He remembered looking at it and not having the slightest appetite. She’d protested when he’d set it aside, but he’d assured her that he was fine, and so of course she’d believed him. Bless her bleeding heart, but sometimes she believed him a little too freely. Usually, he tried to be worthy of that.

“But, take it from me,” Beau said. “Night like this? Of course you’re fucking starving. You probably don’t remember, but all you had was a goddamn almond cake and some wine. At least we had a chance to scarf down some canapes while you were getting over the wall. So we’re gonna fix that. Here. Start small.” She tugged on his sleeve to get him to look at her, then pressed a chunk of bread smeared with cheese into his hands when he did.

Molly stared at it for a second like it was the most wonderful, impossible thing he’d ever seen. Then he took a huge, savage bite, nearly choking it down all in one go. Swallowing hurt – Yasha had eased his ribs, but that had left no energy left for his face or his throat. But he choked it down and then shoved the rest of the food in his mouth immediately after.

“If I have to keep you from choking, it’s probably gonna break your ribs again,” Beau said mildly, but he looked up to see her passing over another hunk of bread and cheese. He devoured that and then she gave him some dried fruit and he scarfed that down and finally,  _ finally _ she passed over his neglected plate. Molly fell on the food with an almost feral need, forgoing utensils entirely and simply tearing into the side of rabbit meat with his teeth like a desperate dog because he was so hungry,  _ so _ hungry, it felt like no amount of food could ever be enough. Meat, vegetables, eggs on dark bread, it was the best food he had ever eaten and every so often Beau passed over her waterskin so he could gulp down a few mouthfuls to make sure he didn’t do himself yet another injury. 

Until at last, at last, the plate was empty of so much as a crumb, and Molly was left simply to lick his hands clean. As he did so, it slowly sank in that he felt better, settled, infinitely less fragile than he’d felt for most of the night. His stomach was full and his breathing came easier and his mind felt as if it had been messily scoured of rot. He didn’t quite feel like himself again, but he thought he was remembering what it would be like to get back to that point.

“Yasha was gonna come and check on you,” Beau said, perhaps in an effort to fill the silence now that it wasn’t being filled with the sound of tears or messy chewing. Her voice was brighter and seemed to be genuinely so. He even heard a bit of pride there. “I told her I’d do it instead. Figured it’d be harder for you to stop keeping up appearances around someone you actually respected, yeah?” 

Molly froze, his hand halfway to his mouth, staring at nothing very much as his mind whirred back to life. 

He and Beau had known one another for a long while, at this point. Since virtually day one they’d given each other a hard time. Yasha had once told him that sometimes, other people had trouble telling whether he was giving someone grief because he hated or loved them, and it was true that Beau had started out very firmly on the former side of the line before crossing over to the latter. He’d always assumed that she’d noticed the difference. He’d certainly felt that their teasing had grown softer as the months wore on, the words largely unchanged but with intentions born of warmth rather than barbed disdain. 

The fact was that Beau was an incredibly easy person to feel comfortable around, once you got to know her – maybe not to most people but absolutely to him. Molly knew he could be just as much of a blunt, irritable asshole when the mood took him. All that meant was that they’d eventually grown from adversaries to equals. 

He’d thought she knew that. It felt suddenly,  _ piercingly _ important for him to make sure.

“Beau,” Molly said, slow and careful and steady. Lifting his head to meet her gaze was an effort, but he did so. “Yasha is quite possibly the only person I respect  _ more  _ than you.” 

That startled her, to say the least – she actually drew back a little, eyes wide, mouth full of bacon that she’d briefly forgotten to chew. The look on her face would have honestly been comical if his heart hadn’t felt so full. 

At last, she swallowed her mouthful, wiped her mouth on the back of her hand like the garbage person she was, and offered him a faint, fond smile. “Thanks,” she said, before reaching out as if to punch his shoulder. This time, the tap of her knuckles was feather-light, and Molly knew the gesture meant as much from her as the hug before had. 

It was a good moment, warm and safe, which made it a shame when it was broken by the sound of Caleb’s voice from the other side of the door. 

Beau held up a hand for him to be quiet, eyes narrowing, but by the time she did so Molly had heard the noise, too. Slowly, her eyes fixed on the door, she eased herself off the bed and crept, soundless and barefooted, along the floor to crouch in front of the door, listening intently. Molly had never actually bothered to put his boots on after he woke up and that helped him be just as quiet in following her to help eavesdrop.

They listened pensively for a few seconds. That was absolutely Caleb’s voice, and he was talking to someone – not one of the Nein, not a voice that either of them immediately recognized. But then a few more seconds went by and comprehension  _ did _ dawn for Molly. When it did, he had to fight to stay still, to not let his tail thump the walls and floor in agitation.

Cree. Caleb was talking to Cree. 

Beau saw him move to grab the doorknob. She caught his wrist, shaking her head. Reluctantly, he obeyed and settled back on his heels, waiting, wanting to itch out of his skin and scream with frustration. At the least, he could mouth  _ Cree  _ to her and watch the dread and doubt settle onto her face, too.

It felt like hours but was probably only a moment more before they heard footsteps join the voices, heard Caleb and Cree pass by their door and enter another room just a few doors down. Only then did Beau ease the door open and slip out into the hallway, beckoning for Molly to follow. This he did so, padding along behind, his fingers itching for his swords despite himself. But of course, they were back in the other room, back with his boots.

If they got out of this city alive, Molly was never, ever going to sleep unarmed again. 


	14. Hunger Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb nearly gets a mouthful of fur. Molly and Beau give him a talk about making good choices. Then Caleb finally has a meal, and he and Molly get a chance to make up for some lost time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you start this chapter, I just want to remind you that Molly has technically had a short rest and so is no longer at 1 HP. Plus, thanks to Jester's Greater Restoration, his max HP is no longer diminished. So don't panic, okay? 
> 
> Also, this chapter gets a little spicy. It's not outright smut, but might still range into NSFW territory. Be careful!

They paused at the door where Caleb and Cree had entered, listening again. This close, with both their sharp hearing, it was easier to make out words. And once he did, Molly’s stomach felt as if it dropped through the floor.

_“—mouthful of fur, it really does seem there’s no way around it.”_

_“I could shave some away, Master, if that would please you.”_

_“Mm…no,_ nein _. Distasteful as it is, it might help cover the marks. I feel as if your friends would make a fuss if they saw. And I’ve had quite enough of fussing, for tonight.”_

_“Of course. I will be discreet.”_

_“I know you will. Now—”_

Molly saw red, felt his mind go fuzzy and indistinct with anything but _fury_ , and before even Beau could move to stop him he’d shoved the door open and stumbled inside, teeth bared, tail lashing. “That is _quite_ enough of that.”

The room was mostly bare, though there were signs that someone had been staying here. Otherwise, there were Caleb and Cree, standing in the center of the room, both staring at him in stunned silence.

Caleb recovered his wits first. He ducked his head, looking away. “Mollymauk,” he said. “I swear to you, this isn’t what it—”

“Of _course_ it’s not what it _bloody_ looks like!” Molly snarled, stalking into the room to grab Caleb’s wrist. He felt Caleb’s arm flex under his fingers, knew dimly that the vampire could have easily pulled away. But he didn’t, he stayed still and quiet, staring at his feet. “What, did you think I thought you were going to fuck her? I’d like to think you’re not quite _that_ far gone yet, Caleb! But sneaking around to bite people isn’t that much better, is it?!”

“I don’t understand,” Caleb whispered. Molly saw his fists clench but, yet again, he did not pull away even though he could have done so easily. “Molly, I am _starving_. I need _someone_.”

Molly flinched when Cree laid a hand on his arm. “Lucien,” she said. “It’s all right, I—”

“His name is _Mollymauk!”_ Caleb snapped, in a tone that made all three of them flinch.

Molly felt a minute shudder run through Cree, heard her breath freeze in her throat for a moment before she spoke again. “Mollymauk, it is—”

“Don’t,” Molly said quietly, refusing to look at her, staring fixedly at Caleb instead. Once again, his mind was a whirl, but the food in his stomach and the tears Beau had helped him get out meant that his mind no longer felt like it was about to whirl _apart_.

This shouldn’t have _gotten to him_ the way that it had. But it was, and in part that was because biting was never just about _food_ for vampires. Like so much in his head, he didn’t know how he knew that, he just knew in his bones that it was _true_. There _was_ a sexual component to it – maybe not always predominantly, but always present nonetheless. And Molly never would have thought of himself as someone possessive or prone to jealousy and yet, and _yet_ …

And yet he’d had to see Caleb being intimate and close with his childhood friends and their worst enemy tonight when Molly would have given an arm and a leg to have him back. He could have looked past all of that because none of it had been Caleb’s choice, not truly. But now he’d come across Caleb taking Cree into a room, clandestine and private like a shameful secret, entirely of his own volition. And it hurt, it _hurt_ as much as dying had and he felt humiliated, off-balance, lied to and betrayed. The rational reality that Caleb probably genuinely had no idea of the full extent of what he’d done only did a little to ameliorate the situation.

Hell, Molly probably knew more about the instincts driving Caleb right now than Caleb did.

Even so, it was only when Beau drew up beside him and laid a bracing hand on his shoulder that Molly found it in himself to speak again. “You could have come to one of us,” he said quietly, folding his arms tight across his chest. “This controlling people, luring them away, taking what you want without asking, that’s what _he_ did.”

 _And then you will see for yourself that his soul is beyond saving._ Cree had told him that herself – Cree, who was now standing still and compliant, firmly under Caleb’s thrall and quietly awaiting his instructions. He’d hoped then that she was wrong, that she’d been lying just to wound him, but she’d been honest about feeding Caleb Trent’s blood and now it chilled his heart to think that she might have been right about everything else, too.

But at his words, Caleb actually drew back as if struck, then drew in on himself in a way that was at least _familiar_. “How _dare_ you,” he whispered. “I am _nothing_ like him. But exactly what else was I supposed to do, hm? Go digging for rats and risk being outside when the sun rose? Ask one of _you_ , after I—” And Molly’s heart lurched to see actual tears gathering in Caleb’s eyes. “Molly, I _killed_ you tonight, and I tried to send everyone else after you. Of course I wasn’t going to ask you for this, or any of you. I wanted to _spare_ you this side of myself and, and I did not think you would care _so much_ if it was her, even if you did know.”

“Wrong answer,” Beau said quietly. “That’s not how we do things. Some people don’t deserve to be food more than others, even if they have given us grief in the past.” She glanced over at Cree. “No offense.”

Cree only shrugged.

Molly closed his eyes, took a deep breath. Then he made his arms uncurl, made himself reach out to take Caleb’s hands in his, and brought them to his mouth to kiss. He felt Caleb’s fingers twitch, heard him make a low and hungry sound, and some of the barbed spikes that had grown around Molly’s heart softened in sympathy.

“Caleb,” he said. “None of what happened out there was your fault, or your _choice_. You couldn’t do anything but what he told you to. I know that. I understand. But you’re free now, and you can make better choices. I want to help you make better choices. We all do. We all can. We’re not going to let you _starve_ because of what he forced you to do, all right?” His fingers shook only a little as he reached up to undo some of the ties at the front of his shirt, the better to loosen the collar and bare his throat. Caleb’s gaze snapped to it instantly; Molly saw him swallow.

Beside him, Beau made a dubious sound. Molly glanced at her and their gazes met, held for a moment. What she saw there seemed to reassure her, both of his renewed physical strength to endure this and his mental calm in making the offer. He _had_ just eaten a very good meal, and among the Nein, he _was_ the only one who’d gotten any sleep tonight. Besides, he bled himself as easily as breathing. He could take some blood loss tonight without dropping dead again.

“I’m gonna take Cree downstairs,” Beau said, taking the tabaxi’s arm. “Then I’ll be back and you can get some from me too, okay? Will that be enough to get you through the night?”

The plea of _go easy on him_ went unspoken but implied. Caleb clearly heard it anyway - he nodded, short and shaky. “ _Ja_.” He swallowed again, flexed his fingers, then motioned at Cree. “Listen to Beauregard, _meine Freundin._ However she directs you. She knows best.”

“Of course, sir,” Cree said, nodding.

“Cool,” Beau said, her voice just an octave too high. “I’m just gonna assume that was necessary and I’m gonna go now. Be right back. Come on.” She gave Cree’s arm a tug, and the other woman allowed herself to be led out of the room. Beau closed the door behind them, leaving Caleb and Molly alone.

Molly’s heart ached to see that Caleb was trembling very finely, his focus darting anxiously between Molly’s face and his throat. His hands were clenched so tightly at his sides, as if he were having to physically restrain himself from reaching out. “Are you certain?” he asked, very quietly. “I, I won’t force you, or beg you, or expect anything and—”

In answer, Molly stepped forward, wrapped his arms around Caleb, and pulled him close. He rested a hand on the back of his love’s head and gently, gently guided it against his shoulder, at the curve of his throat. Caleb let himself be guided after only a moment’s hesitation, his arms coming around Molly to cling to him in turn.

“I’m sure,” Molly said, and meant it. “It’s okay. Go on.”

He felt Caleb shudder in his arms, heard him let out a broken keen which he muffled against Molly’s shoulder. And though Molly braced himself for pain, for the stabbing of fangs into his flesh, he didn’t feel that, not right away.

Instead, he felt the brush of Caleb’s lips, tentative and soft at first, ghosting over his skin. Molly drew in his breath in a startled little gasp which left him as a pleased hum. The sound seemed to embolden Caleb and slowly, the kisses grew more heated, more eager and insistent. Caleb’s mouth grew warmer from the proximity of their bodies and for a moment this felt so normal – better than normal, even, because he’d never known Caleb to be so sure and confident in this. He added the press of his tongue and the barest graze of his teeth, lavishing attention all along Molly’s neck and shoulder, and Molly had _ached_ for this for weeks, for intimacy and affection from the man he loved, to hold him and be held by him. Now Caleb was here and giving all of that so freely. He soon found his knees going weak for reasons that had nothing to do with exhaustion or the night’s previous events.

When Caleb sucked a mark into his flesh, delicate and persistent and demanding in a way that made sparks trail all down his spine, Molly didn’t fight the urge to moan, and felt something exultant in his heart when the sound made Caleb grip him tighter.

When Caleb gently wound his fingers through Molly’s hair and eased his head back, Molly let him to do so without complaint or resistance. His skin felt warm and sensitive, a pleasant heat radiating from his shoulder and throat all down through his body. He felt relaxed, his head full of soft pink fog.

When the penetration finally came it was slow and careful. Caleb fixed his mouth to Molly’s pulse point and worked another mark into it. He worried gently at the skin with the flat edge of his teeth, he grazed the blooming bruise with his fangs and then he slowly, slowly started to drive them _inside_.

There was pain, of course, this never would have been painless. Molly winced, his fingers tightening in Caleb’s shirt, his tail twitching and lashing anew. And yet he knew that this could have hurt so much more if Caleb had simply driven in his fangs and pierced him like the hungry monster he was supposed to be now. Instead, Caleb ran his fingers through Molly’s hair, petting, soothing, _I know, I know_. Molly felt blood bubbling up from the wounds. He felt Caleb taking in deep, careful swallows – he tried to keep track of how many, and lost count almost immediately.

But after what felt like not very long at all, Caleb pulled his fangs free with a shuddering sigh. Molly whimpered softly at the feeling but that brief stab of pain was nothing compared to the relief he felt of knowing that the ordeal was over, that they’d both survived it. Caleb ran his tongue over the wounds, licking up the last of the blood, and then he changed his grip on Molly to help him over to sit down on a bed. “There we go,” he murmured fretfully, running his fingers through Molly’s hair, cradling his face to kiss his forehead. “All done. All over. There we go. How are you feeling, _liebling?_ ”

Molly took stock of himself, humming thoughtfully, tilting his head into Caleb’s hand. “A little dizzy,” he finally said. “Throat’s a little sore. Weird, but not terrible.”

“Easy enough to sleep off.” He opened one eye to see Caleb smiling weakly. “Trust me, I know. You’ll feel better after some sleep, Molly, and you are overdue.”

Molly smiled weakly back. “If you say so. I’ll take your word for it.”

He knew that what had just happened was strange, even wrong, certainly entirely outside the realm of his experience. But that didn’t have to be _bad_ , did it? They were well off the map and fumbling their way along without a clue, but at least they were doing so together again. That was something to hold on to. Once upon a time, even the idea of having a romantic relationship with another person was something that would have seemed impossible and strange to them both, after all.

Beau returned just a few minutes later, and she returned alone. Caleb took what he needed from her – this time, it was a brief, utilitarian thing, but Molly knew that was how they both preferred it. He had no idea if he took more blood from her than he had from Molly, no real sense of time to compare it to, but supposed that Caleb must have. That would have been the practical thing to do. Then they both helped Molly stand and helped him back to the other room they’d bought for the night. He was mostly sure he could have made the short walk under his own power, but decided that it was nice to not have to test that theory.

“Keep an eye on him,” Beau said to Caleb, as he got Molly laid down. “Make sure he doesn’t find a way to do anything else stupid. I’m gonna go check on the others.”

“I can do that,” Caleb said, nodding. “Tell them all to get some sleep too, if they haven’t. And have a good night yourself, Beauregard.”

Beau smiled wryly back at him as she opened the door and made to leave. “Pretty sure you mean ‘good morning’. You should probably close those curtains.”

Caleb did so with a wave of his hand. The curtains drew themselves shut at his will, blocking out the imminent threat of the sun, leaving the room dark but for the faint light spilling in from the hallway, which was cut off when Beau closed the door.

Molly and Caleb were left in shadows and dimness. Molly closed his eyes and lost himself for a moment in the impossibly sweet relief of being back in a bed, feeling himself relax by inches and finally face the prospect of sleep again. He felt the bed dip as Caleb sat down on the edge of it. After a moment of pensive stillness, Molly felt Caleb’s fingers in his hair again, carding through his curls, tracing the ridges and grooves of his horns, caressing his cheek and lingering over the delicate lines of the peacock feather. The rain had more than washed the makeup away, after all.

“I’m sorry,” Caleb whispered, and his voice broke there in the quiet stillness. Feeling a renewed rush of sympathy and worry, Molly half-opened his eyes to stare up at the other man. Caleb flinched to see him looking – maybe he’d thought Molly was already asleep. But now that the confession was begun, it would not be stopped. He stumbled and stammered on, the words bleeding out of him like poison. “Molly, I am so, so sorry. I left you, I hurt you, I frightened you and, and _killed_ you.” He pressed a hand to his mouth as if to swallow the word back, as if by doing so he could make it not have happened. All that happened was that he muffled a sob, instead, shoulders shaking.

Slowly, carefully, throat tight with the threat of tears even if he had no more to cry, Molly reached out to hold Caleb’s other hand in his, squeezing once, brushing his thumb over the back of it. “For what it’s worth,” he said, smiling as if inviting Caleb to share in this awful private joke that lay between them now. “I’m pretty sure I was ready to kill you, too, there at the end. When…whatever happened to me happened. You just got there first. So I’d say that makes us even.”

Caleb shook his head even as he squeezed Molly’s hand with a fierce strength. At least he stopped trying to muffle himself. “Nothing could ever make this ‘even’.”

“ _Having you here_ makes this even,” Molly insisted. Needing Caleb to look at him, to understand he was being sincere, Molly pushed himself up onto his elbows, the better to reach out and cradle Caleb’s cheek. “That was the point of _all_ of this. You’re here and you’re _you_ and that absolutely makes it all worth it to me, Caleb.”

Besides, he knew that at least some of the sadness Caleb carried now was his doing, his fault, and that just because Caleb didn’t feel like he could speak of them that didn’t change how much their loss had wounded him. “And I’m sorry, too. About…about your friends. Astrid. Eodwulf.” Their names were like bile on his tongue, but he made himself say them anyway. Names were important. “You’re right. They were victims, just as much as you were. They didn’t deserve what Trent did to them. They didn’t deserve to die. You don’t have to believe me, but we all wanted a chance to save them. Jester held back until we—” _Until we knew it was them or us._ “—until we didn’t know what else to do. And when I woke up or, or whatever the _fuck_ happened to me, I didn’t even know who the three of you _were_ anymore.”

He clutched his other hand in his hair, shaking his head dazedly, feeling a fresh wave of fear and cold, cold dread seize in his chest. Every time he thought he was starting to get a handle on his powers, every time he was starting to get a handle on _who_ , on _what_ he was, something else happened to surprise him in the worst possible way. This power had always been there, just beneath the surface, waiting for the wrong moment to take control. What else might happen to him that he had no possible idea about?

Caleb made a low, soft, sad sound. His lips were cool and dry as he pressed a kiss to Molly’s forehead, then drew him close and held him protectively as if to shield him from everything that had happened that night and everything that was to come. There was no heartbeat against Molly’s ear to steady his breathing by, but he appreciated the gesture all the same, and hugged Caleb to him in turn.

“I—” Caleb said, then closed his mouth. He tried twice more to speak, before finally managing: “I wish things had not happened this way. But I never would have wanted you to die in their place. You and, and everyone else, doing what you must in order to live, that is never something you need to apologize to me for, Mollymauk. If you had killed me as well, I would still feel that way.”

Molly didn’t entirely know what to say to that, not when the idea of having gone through all of this only to lose Caleb anyway still made him feel like dying all over again. “I missed you,” he whispered instead. “I missed you so much. Honestly, Caleb, one of the worst parts of tonight was seeing you with so many other people and not with me. I am _so tired_ of people taking you away from me.”

It was a weak, shameful, pathetic thing to admit, but no less true for it. Here in the dark, it was an admission he could make.

Even so, his heart stuttered in panic when Caleb pulled away a little. Then he realized the bit of distance was only to make it easier for Caleb to tilt Molly’s chin to face him, guiding their gazes to meet.

Here in the dim gray light, the red of his eyes wasn’t so obvious. It let Molly focus better on the emotion contained within them. Caleb stared at Molly with something soft and worshipful and longing in his expression, before he leaned in close to kiss him. His mouth was still just a little warm and Molly drank it in eagerly, whimpering softly in the back of his throat

“I’m here,” Caleb whispered, when they pulled apart for just a moment so Molly could breathe. “I’m here, _liebling_. I won’t leave you again. I won’t let anyone part us again. I swear it.”

“Good,” Molly whispered, low and needy. He was trembling with too many emotions to name but he didn’t have to name them, he just had to relish in the fact that Caleb was here and, at least for a while, still _his_. “Good.” He caught the other man’s mouth again, licking between his lips, letting their tongues tangle and their breaths meld. The fact that Caleb was already panting a little seemed something to be especially proud of now.

Molly pressed close, furrowing his fingers in Caleb’s hair, losing himself in the desperate, hungry kisses. Somehow, he wound up on his back again, with Caleb settled on top of him, their mouths never parting. His hands did move, however, clumsily tugging at the blankets until Molly took the hint to move, letting Caleb tug them down and then over them both, creating a little space of shared warmth and touch. Molly moaned brokenly into the kiss, relishing in the feeling of everything else in the world being blocked out but them and this. It had been so damn long, too damn long.

With the two of them secure and safe and warm, Caleb let his hands roam over Molly’s body, touching for the sake of it, and Molly was deliriously happy to follow his lead. Caleb traced his horns, squeezed his hips, stroked aimless little patterns along Molly’s chest where his shirt still hung half-open. Molly dragged his fingers down Caleb’s back, wrapped his tail around his ankle, caressed Caleb’s cheek and down his neck to where old bite scars still lay layered on top of each other. All the while they kissed in a messy tangle of lips, tongues, and teeth. Later, Molly would reflect that it was probably a minor miracle Caleb didn’t draw blood on accident but somehow, he held on to that last scrap of control.

But while Molly’s canines were a little sharper than a human's, they weren’t a patch on a vampire’s fangs. So he didn’t hesitate in the slightest to catch Caleb’s lower lip between his teeth and roll it slowly, teasingly slowly, wanting it swollen and aching before he was done. Caleb _growled_ softly into his mouth and then, suddenly impatient, obviously desperate, started to shove Molly’s shirt up his body, hungrily seeking more skin-on-skin. This seemed like a fine idea to Molly, who started fumbling with the ties and fastenings of Caleb’s tunic. But the clothes were unfamiliar, far fancier than his wizard normally wore, and he was happy to lie back and let Caleb handle it when he saw that Molly was having trouble. Meanwhile, Molly got his shirt over his head and off – normally a tricky endeavor with his jewelry to consider, but he’d never had the chance to put any on again after divesting himself for the ball.

Getting their torsos bare necessitated their mouths parting for a moment, and it was an agonizing moment. But the pleasure of pressing close again when they were both stripped down more than made up for it. Under the blankets, sharing Molly’s heat, Caleb felt warm and human and alive, as if Molly was pouring humanity back into him by will and love alone. His hands seemed to leave a trail of fire beneath Molly’s skin wherever they roamed, warm and cleansing.

When they next parted for breath, Molly didn’t let Caleb seize his mouth again. He instead started to kiss him all over, dotting kisses against his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, before trailing his mouth down along Caleb’s throat, just as Caleb had done to him earlier. Caleb shuddered viscerally above him, groaning softly, fingers curling. Molly had no fangs to pierce with, no fear of wounding him, and so he didn’t hesitate to add the press of his tongue and the bite of his teeth here as well, he didn’t hesitate to suck dark, possessive marks into Caleb’s skin. Each one made Caleb shudder and gasp, made Molly ache to keep teasing and loving him. He kissed the spot behind Caleb’s ear, caught his earlobe between his teeth, and felt his heart skip a beat when doing so made Caleb whisper his name like a prayer. _“Mollymauk…”_

All the while, Caleb’s hands were far from idle. He teased Molly’s nipples relentlessly, pinching them between his fingers again and again, even grazing over them with his palm in a way that made Molly muffle a cry against Caleb’s skin. They were soon stiff, aching, and then – oh, and then Caleb pulled his head away from Molly’s mouth, lowered it down, and Molly barely had time to make a noise of protest before Caleb closed the wet heat of his mouth over Molly’s nipple, swirling his tongue around it, sucking hard. Molly gasped sharply, his eyes screwing shut, his fingers threading through Caleb’s hair to hold his mouth, if possible, even closer. He contrasted the sharp, overwhelming sensations with gentler ones, tracing the shadow of Molly’s ribs and the line of his tattoos with long scholar’s fingers, letting them dip lower to graze the pads of them over Molly’s stomach, leaving his skin sensitive and warm and tingling just from the sheer pleasure of being touched.

Hearing Molly whimper and moan helplessly beneath his mouth and hands seemed to leave Caleb equally overwhelmed, in a way. All at once, he let out a low, fierce growl and shoved a knee in between Molly’s legs, pressing his thigh _up._ Molly cried out, hips bucking into the friction entirely of their own volition. Throughout all of this, he hadn’t truly appreciated how _hard_ he’d gotten, but now the low, insistent throb between his legs was quite impossible to ignore.

Caleb lifted his head, then, hungrily scanning Molly’s face, drinking in his reactions as he slowly began to grind his thigh into Molly’s cock. Molly’s hips moved with him, blindly chasing the friction and pressure and _heat_ , staring mesmerized up at Caleb.

He knew in that moment with sudden, piercing clarity that this could so easily go so far, further than they’d ever gone with each other before. Making out was comfortable, familiar by now, at least when privacy allowed. Otherwise, they had only very recently reached the point of using their hands and mouths to get one another off, and even then only very occasionally. Molly had been fine with that, more than okay with waiting or taking it slow, especially since he knew that the reasons for Caleb’s anxiety with regard to such things were born partly of such trauma in his past, trauma that had been cruelly and deliberately exacerbated during his time under Maxwell’s power.

But now he knew with an overwhelming certainty that Caleb wanted to fuck him, wanted to _take_ him, and Molly knew that he would let it happen. If Caleb decided to push his pants down, spread his legs, push _into_ him, Molly would welcome it. He would lose himself in Caleb’s easy, uncharacteristic, predatory confidence and relish the chance to truly _forget_ for a while. He knew that Caleb wanted to, ached to, could feel the hot, hard length of the other man’s cock against his thigh.

Which made it a real and true surprise when Caleb stopped, closed his eyes. He shook his head as if trying to clear it, sucked in a few shaky breaths. His hands sought out Molly’s, fumbling blindly, until Molly caught them and held them and threaded their fingers together.

Only then did Caleb seem to find his voice. “No,” he whispered. Then, a little stronger: “ _Nein_. This, this isn’t right. Bad time. Wrong place.” He forced his eyes open and smiled apologetically down at Molly, and after the intense _strangeness_ of the last little while, that achingly familiar smile made Molly’s throat go tight.

And he knew in that moment that Caleb had made the right choice. Molly was _better_ but just because he wasn’t right on the verge of breaking down again didn’t mean that he wasn’t still a little fragile inside. Taking this step would be too much, too fast, especially when neither of them was quite _right_. Even if it didn’t do more harm than good, Molly knew it would leave him waking up with a hell of an emotional hangover if he wasn’t due for one already.

Even so, he made a needy, reluctant sound as Caleb got off of him. The wizard chuckled and settled down beside him, instead. “I know, I know,” he said, chiding gently. “But you need sleep. That was Beauregard’s orders. She would be very angry at me if she found out I was keeping you from that.” He pressed close again, his chest against Molly’s back, looping an arm around his waist to hold him close. “Come. I know I haven’t made it very easy for you, but try to sleep.”

“You can say that again,” Molly grumbled good-naturedly. He was still hard, but he could set the immediate, insistent need aside and just enjoy the warm, tight glow in the pit of his stomach. Denial could absolutely be its own kind of pleasure, after all, a sort that lingered well. So he let it warm him, relax him, as he tucked an arm under his head to help brace his horns.

He was already half-drifting when a thought occurred to him, one that made him frown. “But you won’t be able to sleep,” he murmured, half turning to look back at Caleb.

Even from this angle, he could still see Caleb smile gently, reassuringly. He kissed the corner of Molly’s mouth. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “I, ah, I have a lot to think about.”

“Good things?”

Caleb hummed thoughtfully. “Not-bad things, I suppose.”

“Well. I suppose that could be worse.”

 _“Ja.”_ Caleb kissed him properly this time, a brief, chaste press of lips. Molly took the silent order for what it was – he turned back over, got comfortable again. He felt Caleb settle down behind him, felt the other man’s breath ghosting softly against his skin in slow, steady exhales.

He realized dimly, distantly, that Caleb must have been making a deliberate effort to breathe because he knew it would comfort Molly. That thought comforted him, too, made a smile touch his lips, and it was the last thought that Mollymauk Tealeaf had for a long, long while before he finally, truly slept.


	15. An Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjord and Nott make plans for the future. Caleb brings Jester back up to speed on the past. The Mighty Nein have their most dangerous battle to come once the sun sets, and they all know that they'll all need to be on the same page when the hour of truth arrives. It's just a matter of finding where that common ground even is anymore.

After the previous night’s rain, the sun rose weak and watery in a grey, washed out sky. Fjord had still never been so happy to see it.

He and Nott made their way to a small cemetery behind the Dawnfather’s temple, Fjord with a shovel and Nott with an empty sack, both in disguise. They went a little slowly, taking some indirect routes and taking the time to eavesdrop. Scattered news about last night’s events had bled out into the streets, no doubt from the Crownsguard who had fled the vampires’ arrival and the various cooks and servants at the palace who’d heard at least something of the ruckus.

“So,” Nott drawled, as she picked the lock on the cemetery gate. “Mollymauk absolutely can’t come back here ever again.” Most of the stories were scattershot and fragmented but the presence of a lavender-skinned tiefling somewhere in the mix was an unfortunately common thread.

“And Caleb probably shouldn’t,” Fjord added, shading his eyes and keeping watch. One of the vampires had been identified as a red-haired man.

“And I mean, Ikithon knows everything about us, so the King might know everything about us, so _we_ probably shouldn’t come back here ever again, either.”

“Sure looks like it.”

Nott rubbed a bit of oil into the hinges before she pushed the gate open. “Fine. Fuck this place.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Fjord said, following her inside.

They took cover in the shadow of a gnarled, dead tree, then changed their disguises to appear as temple acolytes. Hopefully that would be enough that passersby would only see the shovel and not question what was being done with it. Even so, Fjord picked a couple of graves midway between the gates and the temple itself, then set to work shoveling dirt into the sack Nott held open and waiting.

“This is mud,” he said, after a minute. “This is not dirt, this is mud.” As if in evidence, some of the muck slid off the shovel and onto his boots with an ugly _splat_. “I hope that doesn’t make a difference, but fuck if I know.”

“Caleb is used to sleeping on mud,” Nott said. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“I hope so! I don’t want to go fighting one of the toughest wizards in the Empire when our wizard is all out of spells.” Fjord sighed in agitation, adding: “That’s if we even bring him with us.” There had been a fair amount of debate on that point. It would be well within Jester’s power to trap Caleb in a magic circle that undead could not pass – then one of them could stay behind to keep an eye on him, while the rest of them saw to Trent.

“We have to if we can,” Nott said quietly, though he could tell she still had her doubts as well. “I’m not strong enough to protect us. You _definitely_ aren’t. Jester will be busy healing us. Caleb has the most magic out of any of us. It isn’t even a close thing.”

Fjord let the jibe pass unchallenged, because to some degree it wasn’t a jibe. They both knew that to let Trent run amok with us own magic would be the death of them all. They needed someone like Caleb who could come even close to lasting as long without running dry, to harry Trent in turn.

And yet, would it even be worth it if bringing him along meant all this work was for nothing? If it meant that Caleb sabotaged their only real chance to make him human again? Jester and Beau had promised to try and press the point a little further, get a sense of where Caleb’s head was at after some time to cool his heels and…something to take the edge off his hunger. He’d probably sleep latest of all of them, since he’d be getting the latest start on it, so they’d have time to trap him if the girls decided that was what was necessary.

The thought left a bad taste in Fjord’s mouth. Nott didn’t seem any happier. In fact, Nott seem like she was chewing over something even deeper and darker than the thoughts chasing themselves around Fjord’s head. He didn’t like the look of that – at least most of the Mighty Nein needed to be on the same page for whatever was to come. He’d thought, perhaps naively, that they’d come too far for secrets at this point.

Still, he couldn’t think of a way to broach the subject until he’d stopped his shoveling and she’d tied up the sack, both judging that if they filled it any further it would get unwieldy to move and Crownsguard might start taking notice. Fjord took the sack, the better to keep it from dragging on the ground, and Nott took charge of the shovel, and together they crept back towards the gate. Only then did Fjord take the chance to take a shot in the dark.

“Y’know,” he said, as Nott eased the gate open. “There are easier ways to bring his parents back. I mean, he’s gotta know that, right?”

Nott flinched, so Fjord knew he must have guessed _something_ right. But to his surprise, she snorted in derisive amusement even as she waved him through.

“Caleb doesn’t just want to bring his parents back,” she said, closing the gate behind them and replacing the lock. “Caleb wants to make it so they never died in the first place.”

“Yeah?” That explained some things, explained why he was so desperate for power as great as a wish. If there had been even bones left behind by the fire, they could have gone to Blumenthal the second they had enough diamonds and Jester could have raised them up. But to make it so that something so long ago had not happened at all…yes, that would be a much harder proposition.

It was also one that Fjord found he was a little more moved by, despite himself. To _ache_ so desperately for a mother and a father that you were willing to break time itself over your knee – his palm itched, and he stared pensively at the circular scar in his flesh to mark his offering of the second key. Chasing after the secrets of an eldritch abomination probably wasn’t anything close, but it _felt_ comparable in that moment. All he’d done, how hard he’d pushed himself and the others, for even the chance to get close to the truth of what had happened to Vandren.

“I mean,” he heard himself say. “That’s not _as_ stupid, then. Maybe we could make it work, make a compromise. Hell, if he made it so he never killed them, he’d probably make it so he never wound up in this mess to get turned into a vampire in the first place, right?”

“Sure,” Nott said, and her voice was high and tight and strained. “After all, if he made it so he never killed them, he’d never become a part of the Mighty Nein in the first place.”

 _Ah_. The very thought set off a pang in his chest. He hadn’t thought of that – hadn’t _dared_ think of that, if he was being honest. Even so, Fjord found that he couldn’t stop worrying at this particular bone now that he had it in his jaws. “Well I mean, that’d be a shame, and we’d all miss him. But if that’s what would make him happy—”

“No, Fjord, you wouldn’t!” Nott snapped, with a sudden ferocity that took him badly aback. “You wouldn’t miss him because you’d never have known him! Just like you’d never have known _me_ , because without Caleb I’d have been beaten to death in that fucking jail cell! And maybe there wouldn’t be a Mighty Nein anyway! Maybe you’d all have hanged in Trostenwald without Caleb there to argue for you, or been torn apart by that manticore because Caleb wasn’t there to burn the man in charge! Maybe Avantika would have slit your throats on the deck of her ship, or Maxwell would have gotten bored of you by now and turned you into _spare parts_ and had Jester torn apart by zombies for trying to save you!” 

She stopped, breathing hard – maybe because she’d run out of steam, maybe simply because they were getting too close to the main thoroughfare again and she didn’t want to attract attention. So for a few minutes, they walked in tense, uneasy silence, letting the crowds of early risers flow around them and listening to the pensive chatter.

“’m sorry,” Fjord said at last. “I, I didn’t think of all…that.”

Nott took a deep breath, then let it out as a shaky sigh. “Of course you didn’t,” she said, but her tone was softer, sympathetic. “You, we, _none of us_ should have to think like that. But I have, I have to, and Fjord, this is killing me. You know that, right? I _want_ to help him. I have always wanted that, since the very first night we met. I promised myself that I would help keep him safe and help him get stronger so that no one could ever hurt him like he’d been hurt before, not ever again. And, and sure, fine, I hoped that at some point along the way, he might get strong enough and might see fit to, to change me back. But that was never the only reason!”

“I know, Nott. I’m sure he knows, too.”

“I thought he did! I thought he was starting to see how his plans could hurt all of us. Sometimes he’d talk about finding another way, or focusing on different things. I haven’t seen him be this _aggressive_ about it in so long. He knows that changing history could hurt all of us. Before this, he cared about that. Or at least he was starting to. Now, I don’t know if he does anymore. And that scares me. I don’t know if it’s the vampire talking or him, or if there’s any difference anymore. And I love Caleb, I love him so much, but if he’s really bound and determined to go through with something that might keep me from seeing _my_ family ever again, then I have to stop him.”

Silence fell between them for a while longer. This time, it wasn’t the silence of two people who didn’t know what to say. It was the silence of two people who knew exactly what needed to be said and simply feared to say it.

Nott had just as good as poured her guts out onto the street, so Fjord took the plunge this time. “I get it,” he said. “And I think you’re right. But Nott, if he really is as bound and determined as he seems, he won’t thank us for this.”

“Fine,” Nott whispered, low and fierce. “Let him hate us. I hope he hates us until he’s old and grey, I hope he hates us until he dies at a ripe old age surrounded by grandchildren with his stupid cat in his lap! Let it be a long and happy hate. But at least he’ll be _alive_ to feel it.”

Fjord nodded slowly. “Cool,” he said dully. “Glad we’re on the same page.” His heart felt heavy, but at least they were aligned as much as they could be. Here and now, with what was to come looming over them, he felt as if that had to count for something.

“Yeah,” Nott mumbled. She stepped over enough to bump his hip with her shoulder. He recognized the aborted gesture of affection for what it was and took some comfort from it as they made their way back to the inn.

*  *  *

Beau and Yasha had, after spending a while downstairs, settled down in the room where they’d first talked about plans. After all, it was already protected with Caleb’s silver wire. Jester had retired to the room where Caleb and Molly had bedded down, since doing so would let her keep an eye on Molly as well as let her sleep safe in the knowledge that Caleb was keeping watch directly.

She slept deep and heavy – she didn’t have Caleb’s perfect sense of time, so she didn’t know for how long. But when she woke, it was to the sound and smell of frying bacon.

And that was strange, because from what she could remember of last night, they were in no position to be frying bacon and besides, breakfast had long since passed. But she was already hungry again, and it smelled so good, so in the end curiosity got the better of Jester. She forced herself to sit up, yawning hugely before her vision focused enough to take in details.

What she saw made her heart stop, made her muffle a shriek of alarm and scramble off the bed. “Caleb! What are you _doing?!_ ”

It looked very much like he was standing on the very edges of a shaft of sunlight pouring in through the open window. He’d stuck a hand directly into the light and was watching with a detached, academic curiosity as it smoldered and burned.

He was so lost in thought, so absorbed by the sight of his own bubbling flesh, that he was quite startled to hear her awake and alarmed – he barely had enough time to glance round at her before she was barreling into him, making him yelp in surprise as she dragged him back from the light. Jester hastily put herself between him and it, fumbled desperately for a stray scrap of cloth. She finally grabbed up a fistful of her skirts to beat at and smother the flames until they went out, leaving only curling smoke, blackened flesh, and a disgustingly appetizing smell in the air.

“Jester,” Caleb stammered, eyes wide and glassy, staring at her as if she were some strange and impossible dream. “I, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Well, it’s a good _fucking_ thing you did, Caleb!” she hissed, only remembering then to try and keep her voice down. The last thing she wanted was for Molly to wake up to the sound of more fighting. “What the hell were you _doing!_ You _know_ you burn up in the sun now, right?!”

He swallowed, then nodded. She let out an agitated huff, then cradled his wounded hand as gently as she could in hers’. “I guess even if you were being _stupid_ I should heal you, and—”

He tugged his hand away, then tucked it in a pocket when she tried to grab for it. “Don’t bother,” he said, his voice hollow and strange. “It will heal if you only give it a minute.” When she still looked dubious, he smiled for her. “Save your magic. You’ll need it tonight.”

Jester didn’t remotely know what to make of this, make of him right now. But the truth was that she still had so little magic, she’d used up so much healing her friends and bringing Molly back and then healing him some more for good measure. So she obeyed, even if she hated herself for doing so. Instead, she gently but firmly took his arm in hers’, then guided him to sit on her bed with her, leaving Molly to continue sleeping. Caleb seemed faintly puzzled, still uncomprehending and distant, but he let himself be led.

“Why did you stick your hand in the sun, Caleb?” she asked, staring intently at him.

He looked away from her immediately, staring at his lap. He pulled his hand out of his pocket to twist his fingers together, and she saw with a jolt that his hand had already healed so that not even a mark was left behind. “I just,” he began, then gave up and tried again. “I had a lot to think about.”

“And you thought about it by _burning yourself_?”

He gave a half-shrug, almost guilty. “It helped me think. Cleared my head.” And that made her so piercingly, profoundly sad for him all over again, but Jester hadn’t even begun to get her thoughts in sufficient order to express as much before he was carrying on: “I just, I kept thinking about. What you said. About me and the sun.”

“That you can’t go out into it anymore and that’s really sad?”

“But that’s just it, Jester! It doesn’t _seem_ sad to me. I, I haven’t seen the sun in a month except when he wanted to punish us. And I don’t miss it.” He tapped her lightly on the chest as if to keep her attention, and now he did lift his head to regard her, his gaze intense in a way she only ever saw when there was a spellbook on his radar. “But I remember that I _should_.”

“I don’t understand,” Jester said, after only a second’s hesitation. She reached up to hold his hand again as if she might find answers that way, and he let her, and she felt a bit better.

“My memory is, is not perfect, Jester,” he said, gesturing at his temple. “At least, not past a certain point. But it is, ah, it is very close to perfect. So I remember _enough_.” She startled in surprise when he covered her hand with his other one, cradling it. His touch really did feel cold even to her now – she resisted the urge to blow on his fingers to warm them, knowing he wouldn’t appreciate it. “I can remember how I was, how I thought before he turned me. And I can remember all the ways I’m thinking differently now. I just, ah, didn’t think to try, until what you said.”

Knowing that her outburst had driven him into such a twisted tangle of thoughts that he’d willingly burned himself made Jester feel sick with guilt. “I’m sorry for yelling at you,” she mumbled.

But Caleb shook his head immediately. “It was good,” he said, and even forced another little smile. “What you did. Yelling at me. That was good. That cleared my head, too.” His expression grew somber once more as he carried on. “Everything I think and feel, now – it makes _sense_ to me, Jester. It feels right. I have all these instincts telling me that I can do as I please, that whatever choice I make is right, because I am strong. Because I am _better_ , and no one else could possibly understand.”

She worried at her lower lip, her gaze falling to their joined hands. “That’s kind of what I was afraid of, Caleb,” she whispered. “Undead are like, things that are alive but wrong, right? And most of them don’t really have thoughts, or souls, but, but maybe if they did, it would twist them all up. Corrupt them. What if it wasn’t just Maxwell, what if just being a vampire _makes you_ a worse and worse person until you forget how to be good? I don’t want that to happen to you, Caleb, I really don’t.”

He listened to her quietly, then huffed out a humorless little laugh. “Virago was a monster whether or not he had fangs,” he said, something well and truly haunted in his voice for just a moment. “But I take your point. And living through this magic now, as I am, I think you might be on to something.”

Yet, to her surprise, he smiled again, even angled nearer to her to whisper as if sharing some thrilling secret. “But that is where you all come in. That is why you are all so important. I have all these instincts telling me to do as I please. Fuck those instincts. More times than I care to think about, even before I was like this, my instincts told me to run, hide, abandon you all, be the coward I know I am deep down. And every time I ignored them and stuck with you instead, my life became better. _I_ became better. I still remember those times, Jester Lavorre. So I remember that trusting you all over my own bad decisions has never failed me before. And that means if you think I would be better off human—” He closed his eyes and took a deep, deliberate breath. “—then I believe you. I trust you.”

“Caleb…” She could scarcely believe what she was hearing, hardly dared to hope that this wasn’t just some pleasant, wistful dream. But when she threw her arms around him, he felt solid and real, and she had to fight not to sob when he hugged her back. “I do. We do. We all really do. I mean, we wouldn’t _leave_ you if this didn’t work and you were stuck like this, we’d find a way to keep you safe so you could stay with us. You could, like, turn into a cute little bat or a mouse and ride in my hood, or in Molly’s pocket! But, but there’d still be a lot we couldn’t do together anymore, and we’d really, really miss you.” Her visionfocused over Caleb’s shoulder on the sleeping form of Molly, and Jester’s heart ached for him. “We’ve already really missed you.”

Caleb saw what had caught her attention. He pulled away enough to stare over at Molly, looking heartsick, but Jester was glad that if nothing else whatever anger had festered between them seemed to have faded – even if it had taken Caleb drinking blood from both Molly and Beau to get to that point.

“He’s started having those dreams where he hurts himself again,” she whispered. Caleb actually flinched; she heard him swallow back a pained whine. “Yasha told me. The night before the ball, she and Beau were keeping watch and, and they saw him put his hands around his neck like he was about to choke himself.” She mimed doing so unconsciously, then shivered viscerally. “I’m kind of glad I didn’t know that before. I think that would have made me really freak out when we found him later and his throat was all bruised up. Even more than I kind of already did.”

Caleb’s grip tightened over hers’ for a moment, fierce enough that she felt her bones creak. He heard her wince, though it was more in surprise than pain. He still immediately let go. Jester might also have felt guilty when he fully pulled away and stood up from the bed, except then she saw that it was for the sake of going to Molly, sitting down on the floor beside the other bed. He reached out to run his fingers fretfully through his lover’s violet curls.

“Jester,” he said. “There is something you need to know, about what happened before you found him. And, and I will tell everyone else later, I swear I will. I just, I am telling you now, _first_ , so that when the time comes you can help us both explain. It will be a painful thing to remember. All right?”

Quietly, carefully, Jester went to settle herself on the floor beside Caleb. She reached out to take his hand, the one not tending to Molly, and threaded their fingers together, squeezing just as tightly as he had.

“Of course, Caleb,” she said. “You can tell me whatever you want.”

His expression of relief was, just for a moment, as bright and brilliant as the sun. “I know,” he said, and she wondered in that moment if they were remembering the same thing – an empty inn common room in the last few hours before dawn, the fire burning low, Frumpkin pacing back and forth between them. Caleb, telling her the story of his parents, of Trent Ikithon, of how his life before had ended. It had been a hard and painful thing for him to do, and she’d loved him fierce as family for trying.

Now, months and miles later, he tried again.

He told her about how Maxwell had clawed his way up from hell to be reborn as a fiend with revenge fixed in his mind. It had been Maxwell who had cast the Gate spell that lazy afternoon on the side of the road, opening up that portal and dragging Caleb down with him.

“He kept me there for…for a while,” Caleb said quietly, his gaze intent on Molly’s face as Jester struggled to fight back tears already. “I suppose it was only a couple of weeks from your perspective. It felt like—” He screwed his eyes shut and took a weak, hiccupping breath, and Jester was horrified to see he was right on the verge of tears, too. “Oh, Jester, it felt like so much longer.”

She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t even know if she could hug him properly, not without risking waking up Molly and, she was sure, spooking Caleb into never finishing this story. But Jester did her best, she wrapped an arm around Caleb’s shoulders and held him close to her, looped her tail around his wrist, and hoped she could pass on enough love and strength that way.

It seemed to help. Or at least, he kept talking without breaking down right away. “He kept me there until Trent was ready to keep me instead. Me and, and Astrid. And Wulf. He punished us for escaping, or trying to. He took my amulet. And then there was a time when I woke up and he was letting that _thing_ into my cell.”

“That weird ooze?” she asked quietly. He nodded, and this time she managed not to wince as his grip tightened on her hand, clinging against the memory.

“It couldn’t eat everything at once without killing me,” he whispered, the words low and rough and ruthlessly steady. “So he brought in someone to heal the physical strain before it could kill me. And then he let it in again. And again. The next thing I knew was waking up in that circle, as he was halfway through the ritual.” Now his breath was tight and wheezing, the effort of continuing a genuine physical stress on him. He nearly tightened his fingers in Molly’s hair before he remembered himself, uncurled them with a visibly deliberate effort of will, and said in a distant, dreamy voice: “And then I died. All because an _arshloch_ vampire didn’t like that I fought back. He orchestrated all of this—” He gestured at himself, at Molly, at Jester. “—just so someone else could tell me to love and obey him.”

She didn’t know what she could possibly say to make any of this right, to even make it better. It was hard enough keeping her emotions in check enough that she wouldn’t sob and wake up Molly.

In the end, what she wound up saying was: “Caleb? I would really like to hug you some more. If that’s okay.”

He looked so startled at her request, so that for a moment she feared she’d crossed a line – but only for a moment, because then he was smiling weakly, then he was nodding.

Then she stood and so did he and that was as much as she could bear to wait before pulling him into her arms and holding tight. He shuddered violently, then slowly, slowly hugged her back.

“I’m really sorry,” Jester whispered. “I’m sorry he hurt you and we didn’t save you and couldn’t protect you. And I’m sorry you’re still scared and I don’t know how to make it better.”

“It’s not your fault,” he stammered, desperate, shaky, broken. “It’s not, I—”

“I can still be sorry, Caleb!” she said, louder than she meant, harsher than she should have. She gentled her voice with a deliberate effort of will and moved to rub his back in apology. “As soon as Trent’s dead we’re gonna fix this, okay? We’ll fix everything they did. We’re going to make sure that Maxwell is dead forever and that no one can ever take you away from us or make you do things ever again. I promise. I _promise_ , Caleb, on the Traveler and my life.” Her eyes stung and her vision blurred and her voice broke on a weak, hiccupping sob as she added: “We’ll get Frumpkin back, too.”

That did it. At the mention of Frumpkin, Caleb muffled a whimpering, keening whine against her shoulder and then broke down entirely, shaking with sobs and soaking her sleeve in tears. It hurt her, _killed_ her, to see just how low life had beaten him over the last while, to see just how much he’d had to suffer _alone_. It left her casting her mind about desperately for some way to truly comfort him – though perhaps giving him a safe place to be truly vulnerable and fall apart still counted for something.

Still, it wasn’t until Caleb had all but cried himself out, until Jester had had a minute or two in which to reflect back on the events of the last few hours, that something came to her. “Caleb?” she whispered, and felt him tense a little in her arms, listening. “Um, back when we first found out what had happened to you, I asked the Traveler about ways we could make you human again. And he said there was magic I could learn that would turn vampires human again, only, um, only it would only work if we killed you first, and then cast like the strongest healing magic there is. So strong that even I probably wouldn’t be strong enough to learn it for years. And we decided not to do that, because we missed you so much already and we knew we couldn’t do that to you. But, since your other friends are…I know it would mean waiting a really long time but I could still bring them back one day, Caleb. If you wanted me to.”

There was a part of her heart that felt nothing but twisting, curling jealousy and dread at the idea. She didn’t know Astrid and Eodwulf. She didn’t know if they were good people, if they’d be safe for any of the Mighty Nein to be around, let alone Caleb. What if they’d always been bad, evil people, and the only reason Caleb missed them now was that he was a little bit evil, too?

But then he looked up at her with such undisguised hope and _longing_ on his face that she knew in that moment she would have brought the moon down from the sky if he’d asked. Caleb was a person who always needed more friends, more people to love him. She tried to recapture the hesitation she’d first felt at the start of the fight with the three of them, the knowledge that Astrid and Eodwulf had also been under Trent’s control and so, whatever their past crimes, they hadn’t deserved death for hurting the Mighty Nein even if there ultimately hadn’t been much of a choice.

Besides, whatever their other crimes, being dead for years would surely make up for them, right? Then maybe they could finally, truly start over, like Caleb had. Jester couldn’t see how she could ever be friends with the two of them, but once upon a time she could never have seen herself being friends with Caleb, either.

Life was funny like that, sometimes, but that was why it was beautiful, too.

So she kept her expression calm and serious so that Caleb would know without a shadow of a doubt that she wasn’t teasing. He scanned her face intently, no doubt out of that very concern, but then he saw her sincerity and he actually laughed – weak, shaky, disbelieving, but underneath it all so, so happy. Then he carefully, carefully hugged her again, cradling her like she was the most precious treasure in all the world.

“That would be good, Jester,” he whispered. “That would make me happy. I have daydreamed so many times that all of you might be friends, too. Thank you. _Thank you_.”

*  *  *

Eventually, with both of them emotionally exhausted and hopefully better off for it, Jester returned to sleep at Caleb’s gentle insistence. Caleb, for his part, returned to keeping watch. She was awoken a while later by the sound of more voices – Beau, Yasha, Nott, Fjord, Caleb and Molly. As Jester dragged herself fully to wakefulness, she saw Nott reaching into a sack Fjord was holding, pulling out dirt to scatter on the floor between the two beds. Caleb sat on the edge of the bed with Molly pressed close to him, but his attention was fixed on the increasingly dirty floor, his gaze hungry.

Finally, the sack was empty and Nott stepped aside, motioning for Caleb to go ahead. Caleb gave Molly an apologetic kiss on the cheek before he pulled away, slipped off the bed, and laid down on the makeshift pallet of dirt on the floor.

The effect was immediate and alarming. As soon as he was stretched out on the gravesoil, Caleb just _stopped_ – he stopped moving by so much as a twitch, stopped even making an attempt to consciously breathe. His eyes fell closed and he appeared for all the world like a corpse sprawled out on the floor.

Then again, wasn’t that what he was right now when all was said and done?

The rational thought did nothing to ease the unsettling sight. Jester looked to her friends, saw that their feelings were much the same, and finally reached down to shake Caleb’s shoulder. It took a great deal of force and insistence before he finally gave a twitch, mumbling sleepily and forcing his eyes half-open. _“Was?”_

She sighed in relief and sat back on the bed. “Oh, good! You’re alive. We weren’t sure.”

“In a manner of speaking,” Caleb mumbled, his voice already thick with sleep. “Was that all you needed?”

She once again glanced to everyone else for confirmation before she nodded. “Uh-huh! You just looked, uh, kind of weird when you were asleep. Like you were dead. I mean, more dead.”

“I’m not. I’m not going to get any more dead just laying here, Jester, not as long as you keep the curtains closed. Can I go back to sleep now, please?”

“Absolutely. Sorry we woke you.” She reached down to pat him on the head.

 _“Das ist gut,”_ he sighed, then let his eyes fall closed again, and immediately slipped back into the sleep of the dead.

That left the living members of the Mighty Nein to share pensive glances amongst themselves, though always their attention returned to the sleeping vampire on the floor, always double-checking to make sure he was _really_ asleep before they said what was weighing on all their minds. Molly had been asleep for this part of the planning, but he saw the way Fjord and Nott kept glancing to Jester, and obviously put the pieces together from there.

“What do you think, Jester?” Fjord finally asked.

Jester reached for her haversack, rummaged around in a pocket, and pulled out a vial of holy water. She held it in her hand, testing the weight of it – not just of the glass and water, but of the possibility. Their very fates might change utterly depending on what she did with this little glass vial.

She thought of Caleb’s confessions, his tears, the fear and pain that still festered in his heart after how much he’d been tortured and abused so recently. She thought of the trust he had decided to place in her, in all of them, to help him hold on to his soul in the face of pain and corruption that would have broken anyone else entirely.

So at last, she shook her head and slipped the vial back into the bag. “I think we can trust him,” she said. And then: “I _know_ we can trust him.”

The others all sighed in relief, tension bleeding from them, smiles coming to their faces. “I knew it,” Nott said proudly.

“I didn’t,” Molly admitted. “So I’m glad to hear you say it. One less thing for all of us to worry about. Even him.”

“Thanks for doing this, Jes,” Fjord said, squeezing her shoulder, gratitude plain in his voice. She beamed, preening a bit under their praise, her tail swishing proudly behind her.

“Of course,” she said. “I am very happy to help make everybody feel better.” Like a good healer should.

With all of that decided and the way forward clear, the Mighty Nein retired to take what sleep they still needed. Jester woke first and stayed awake when she did, feeling her magic surging strong and hot in her veins. She retired to the windowsill to sketch as the sun set, waiting for the rest of her friends to join her, waiting for the hour of battle to arrive.


	16. Boom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mighty Nein storm Trent Ikithon's mansion in search of blood and salvation. Unfortunately, Trent has reinforcements at hand.

When the sun set, they packed up their things, loaded everything into the cart, and got the horses hitched up. For better or worse, they knew they wouldn’t be coming back to this inn.

Then the Mighty Nein set out for Trent Ikithon’s estate. Fjord drove, with Caleb sitting beside him. He had his hood pulled up and the wolf mask on his face. The sight of him like that was enough to keep most Crownsguard from approaching their colorful troupe. If any did dare draw near and ask their business, the Nein let Caleb do the talking. All he had to do was murmur a few words to them and hold their gaze, and suddenly there was no trouble at all.

This was an undeniably bad, easily abused power that Caleb had, but if all went well then he wouldn’t have it for much longer. So no one said anything about it, and privately they were all grateful that this part of the night at least might pass easily. It would have been anticlimactic, all things considered, to be turned away at the gates that guarded the mansions and estates of the capital’s most powerful. But all Caleb needed was a few seconds before the gate guard was motioning them through with a fixed, glassy grin on his face. Molly consoled himself with the fact that the man would shake it off within a day and said nothing.

At last, they pulled the cart up a block away from the mansion and all piled out. “You wanna maybe check for alarms or something?” Beau asked Caleb, as they drew closer to their target. Jester’s magic veiled their steps, helping them leave no trace of their passage and give no sign of their approach.

He frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t believe there is any alarm spell that could extend around the entire property. He could enchant it in other ways – I believe he has, in fact – but not in a way that will alert him to our presence.”

Which wasn’t to say that the grounds around the building itself were undefended. Nott and Yasha confirmed that the guard presence had been just about doubled. Fortunately, Caleb turned out to have a key to the lock on the gates and the key turned out to still work. Nott cast a globe of silence around it so that it would open without a sound, then they all made a break for the front door of the mansion. All things considered, definitely dealing with the two guards on the door seemed preferable to trying to find a convenient window for the seven of them.

Caleb led the pack, and it was quickly clear why. In his military robes with the mask on, he was clearly, immediately recognizable to the guards. They knew him as the monster Trent had made him. Molly was dimly amazed and more than a little impressed that the two on the front door didn’t piss themselves or pass out at the sight of him coming at them out of the shadows at a steady, deliberate walk, though the terror in their eyes was undeniable and they were left too startled to scream out for help right away.

“I am going to make this very easy on you,” Caleb said, his voice edged with a growl. “You are going to let us in, and then you are going to run, and in an hour Trent Ikithon won’t be alive to give you trouble for it.”

It wasn’t quite as graceful as enthralling them might have been, but Molly could see the tension vibrating through Caleb’s shoulders even through his heavy robes. Being this close to Trent, being back at the place where he’d been captured and killed and abused, was getting to him. Molly wished he could do something as simple as stepping forward to hold his hand, but that would have undercut the ferocious picture he was painting for the two hapless watchmen.

But, to his surprise, the guards stayed upright in the face of Caleb’s simmering wrath. They looked faint, and exchanged a glance with one another that betrayed they were certainly considering bolting for safety there and then. But finally, one cleared his throat and tried to hide his shaking hands by folding them behind his back.

“M-Magister Ikithon was expecting you back,” he stammered, then darted an anxious glance at the assembled Mighty Nein. “All of you, in fact. He, he s-said we were to let you in when you arrived.”

The other guard had already pulled out a ring of keys. He nearly dropped them, too busy glancing fearfully at Caleb to focus on finding the right one, until his friend snatched it from him in desperate impatience and managed to get the door unlocked. They both pushed it open, then hastily stepped back and motioned the Nein through. “P-Please, go ahead.”

“Well this is suspicious as hell,” Beau said flatly.

“Yeah this is definitely a trap,” Jester said. “Caleb, maybe—”

But too late, too late, Caleb had already started for the door. Molly felt his heart skip a beat in panic; he reached out to try and catch his wrist when he saw him barreling on ahead – “Sweetheart, wait!” – but Caleb shrugged him off and the next thing he knew was an explosion of green hissing pain.

The guards they’d avoided definitely heard them all cry out – yells of shock from Beau and Nott, pain from the rest of them – as they were doused with an enormous explosion of acid from a previously unnoticed arcane sigil carved into the doorframe. As Molly’s vision slowly cleared, he saw it glowing for just a second longer before it faded entirely away. A scant second after that, Fjord drew all the water up out of the sodden grass and brought it down in a torrent over the group’s heads, washing the acid away before it could continue eating at them. It brought some relief, at least, though the damage had largely already been done.

“Terribly sloppy, Bren,” said a cold, bored voice. They all looked up then, braced and ready for a fight, to see Trent Ikithon waiting at the top of the stairs. The entrance half of the mansion was open to two floors – plenty of room for a fight, Molly thought grimly, as he drew his scimitars and set one humming with psychic power and the other blazing with radiant light.

Caleb was already healing from the acid, new skin creeping down his face and along his arms. Growing like a mad dog, he stepped into the house and stared fixedly up at his tormentor. Without a word said or needing to be spoken, the Mighty Nein followed him in and ranged throughout the hall around him, tense for the first sign of an attack or any hint of another trap.

“This is overdue,” Caleb said. “You deserve this.” His shoulders started to shake again, his hands bunched into fists. “You deserve everything I am about to do to you.”

Nott loaded her crossbow with an audible _clack-clack_. “Don’t forget to let us get a few licks in, too,” she said.

Some of the vibrating agitation bled a little from Caleb’s shoulders at the sound of her voice. He looked back at her, and Molly saw a faint, hesitant smile touch his lips. Then Caleb looked to each of them in turn, face to face, friend to friend, and Molly felt the vice ease around his heart as the sight of them all ranged around and behind him seemed to bring Caleb back from some sort of brink.

“Of course,” he said, in a warm, fond,  _human_ voice. He reached up with perfectly steady fingers to take off the mask and let it fall carelessly to the floor. “Always.”

Trent heaved a long, tired  _sigh_ that nevertheless carried all throughout the hall. “You’re still so prone to dramatics, Bren,” he said. “If I’d known that at the start, I would have left you to rot with the other chattel at the Academy. And it seems these  _mercenaries_  have only aggravated that unfortunate tendency. Fine, then – I’m through wasting my time on you and your selfishness. You have all become tiresome.”

He cast a spell, then – his hands were a blur, his chanting so quick and fast that it all came out as one indistinct stream of humming, vibrating power. Caleb had been ready, however – as the air in the center of the hall started to twist and distort, he held his own hands out before him in the warding gesture that they all knew by now to be a counterspell. Searing red light shot from his palms to the growing distortion in the air, and the meeting of power was so great that Molly felt the ground shaking beneath his feet, so bad that he nearly stumbled, so bad that Fjord and Yasha did.

But Molly kept his feet, and for a long moment he found himself transfixed by the sight of magic against magic, of Caleb and Trent clashing at long, long last. The twisting, tortured air was a hellishly beautiful sight, and for a long moment Molly could only stare at it.

By the time the moment passed and he realized that Caleb was losing ground, it was too late.

“Nott!” Molly called desperately, and Nott shook off her daze, took aim with her crossbow. Then all at once, the clash of power  _snapped_  as if reality itself had just been broken over a knee. The surge of power from Caleb was abruptly cut off with a force that sent him flying back to slam into the wall. Nott let her arrow fly before she could be shaken off target again, but though her arrow flew with a truly unerring aim, there was suddenly a massive portal between her and Trent Ikithon that hadn’t been there before. It passed through into parts unknown, as from behind the portal itself Trent barked out a name whose syllables made Molly’s teeth and horns ache fiercely.

“Oh, Traveler…” Jester whimpered, as the portal finished taking shape. Moving as one, they all crowded back as far away from it as they could.

Molly pulled Caleb to him and held on tight, was gratified to feel Caleb cling back to him in turn. He wasn’t going to let go this time. Wherever Caleb was being taken, they were going to be taken together.  In his peripheral vision, he saw all his friends doing the same, grabbing hold of one another in ironclad grips with outstretched hands.

“Oh  _fuck_ ,” Fjord breathed, as they found themselves confronted with the blasted, barren plains of the Abyss itself.

And then a pair of huge red hands became visible, gripping the edges of the portal, and Molly realized with a cold lurch of dread that this time, the goal had never been to draw any of them  _in_. The goal had been to make a path for this thing to come out and get them. It heaved itself through the path Trent had made and into the material realm and oh Moonweaver in all her grace and glory it was so, so  _big_.

The demon barely fit in the entrance hall – standing over ten feet tall, it had to stay slightly hunched so that it didn’t bash its head against the high ceiling. Massive bat wings unfurled as wide as they could in a space that seemed far more cramped than it had ten seconds ago.  Muscles rippled beneath its ruby red flesh, giving it the strength to heft a longsword as tall as Yasha in one hand and a coiled whip of flame in the other. Yellow eyes regarded them with an amused disdain, and Molly swallowed as it grinned hungrily, licking a tongue along its gleaming, needle-sharp teeth.

“Kill them all,” Trent said, once again sounding bored. “A minor favor, I’m sure you’ll admit, and one that you know I can be trusted to repay.” As the portal faded to reveal him once more, Nott took the chance she’d apparently been waiting for and fired again – this time, the bolt shot directly at Trent, only to shatter against the shield he summoned with a contemptuous wave of his hand.

Its reply was in a grating clash of barbed syllables that Molly didn’t understand, but Trent heaved another sigh. “Of course I’ll help,” he said. “If only to keep you from burning my house down  _entirely_. Not that it matters, I suppose – the little rat made off with all my important papers. If it burns, no great loss.” For the first time, he smiled – thin, predatory, and so, so cold. “The King will owe me for a house and more, when this day is done.”

There was a part of Molly that wanted nothing more than to succumb to gibbering, cowering terror, bowed beneath what seemed the certainty of death. But the rest of him – bolstered by training and whatever strange concoction had given him his powers and the reality of his friends around him, of his love at his side – stepped forward. He gave his swords a flashy little twirl and pointed the blade of light up at the demon, grinning fiercely.

 _“All right, big boy,”_ he rasped in Infernal.  _“Let’s dance!”_

The reply bypassed his ears to echo through his mind, jarring and discordant as nails on a slate – Molly kept himself from flinching with an effort.

 _Little half-blood_ , the demon purred.  _I will make a toothpick of your horns and a bauble of your skull_.

Then, with a roar, it lashed out with its whip, leaving a trail of fire across the floor in its wake. Molly charged straight through the flames to drive his swords up towards its stomach, and the rest of the Mighty Nein charged in behind him to join the battle.

Yasha, Beau, and Molly surrounded the demon, Jester backed herself into a corner and summoned her spiritual weapon, Fjord, Nott, and Caleb took aim at Trent. Caleb actually ran halfway up the wall to put himself out of easy reach. Molly saw his hand flash as he popped something into his mouth to chew.

Beau grinned fiercely and cracked her knuckles before blurring forward at magically hasted speed, kicking herself off the demon’s knee, and unleashing a torrent of blows against its face and chest before she even had time to start falling. Its grin didn’t so much as twitch – instead, it simply scythed its sword through the air, clearly meaning to cleave her in two. The blade was big and slow, and Beau dodged it easily with a backroll across the floor, only to realize too late that doing so put her easily in the path of its whip. The flaming coil lashed out, wrapping itself around the monk like a hellish serpent – Beau let out a scream of pain as the flames licked and writhed along her body, as their foe started to reel her closer with all the patience of an experienced angler.

 _“Let her go!”_ Yasha howled, her wings flaring wide, her eyes going black. She surged forward, raising her sword up high over her head and then bringing it down in two brutal chops to the demon’s wrist. As thick, viscous black blood gushed out from the wounds, Molly was right behind her, carving line after line across the monster’s stomach before he faded into insubstantiality, darting straight through it to take up a flanking position next.

An eldritch blast shot over his head, followed by two crossbow bolts. Molly didn’t dare take his eyes off the demon beyond that but he was gratified when he heard at least one grunt of pain from Trent.

This meant that he was in a perfect position to see the familiar glittering pink soap bubbles appear around the demon’s head, which popped to reveal dozens of tiny, gleefully cheering unicorns who immediately went to work biting and stabbing at its flesh. That seemed to get its attention at least enough to annoy it, which was better than any of the three fighters had managed thus far. Their foe grimaced, lifting the hand holding its whip to bat and swat at the spectral nuisances, before gritting its teeth and realizing they would just have to be dealt with. There was nowhere for it to easily flee, trapped as it was in the entrance hall with them. A scant second later, the spiritual lollypop flashed into being at its ankle height, taking a solid enough swat to at least make it have to brace itself.

“Caleb, don’t bother with fire!” Beau barked – Molly could just barely catch sight of her legs with the monster in between them, and was gratified to see that at least she was back on her feet, free of the whip. “Molly, don’t bother with ice! Normal weapons will do fuck all!”

“I think I recognize this beast!” Caleb added from his perch. “It’s known as a balor, if that is any help to anyone!”

“Not really!” Fjord called, raising the falchion in a vain attempt to shield himself as more magic missiles rained down on him. “Wasn’t exactly planning to ask it out to lunch!” 

“Also, has anyone noticed everything catching fire, or is it just me?!” Jester added.

That did make Molly risk looking away, and he saw with a jolt that she was right. The entire hall, the entire _house_ , was slowly setting ablaze. All the finely carved wooden furniture was smoldering with flames licking at it from below, all the paintings on the walls were already melting. He hadn’t noticed, both from the rush of battle and due to his own infernal nature, but the temperature was also starting to climb, slow but steady. It wouldn’t be long before the walls started to burn. It wouldn’t be long before the whole house came down on their heads, and Molly could easily guess who among those in this fight had the better chance of surviving that.

The next thing he knew was Yasha barreling into him, knocking him aside and out of the path of a beam of sickly green light Molly hadn’t seen coming at him from behind. He opened his mouth to cry out, terrified that it would hit her instead, but another counterspell from Caleb caught it at the last second, making it fizzle out harmlessly in midair. This time Trent’s frustration was a snarl – Molly saw him through the rising smoke, clutching at the crossbow bolt in his shoulder with another one buried in his side, glaring across the hall to where Caleb still lurked with a hand outstretched.

Caleb was smiling, gleeful and fierce. The look in his eyes just dared Trent to try and see which of them would run out of magic first. He was poised with a predator’s grace to counter whatever would come next and in that moment Molly was so, so proud of him.

He didn’t have time to consider the matter any further. The balor whirled with surprising grace in the confined space, lashing out again with whip and blade. Molly tried to dodge without thinking, but too slowly, caught between trying to avoid two threats from two different directions. His spectral state proved to be no help – the blade cut him from shoulder to hip, and the lighting crackling around the blade coursed through him mercilessly, making him scream and stumble as he bled back to solidity. The whip caught Yasha as she moved to aid him, coming down with brutal force against her back so that her skeletal wings were wreathed in flames. Moving as if with an evil will of its own, the end of the whip caught her ankle and tripped her – Yasha hit the ground hard, before the balor started to drag her closer as well. Molly lunged to her aid as, over their heads, another of Trent’s spells clashed with Caleb’s counterspell and fizzled out.

Heedless of the flames, Molly grabbed and tugged at the whip, fear lending him enough strength to give Yasha the inch she needed to wriggle free. As he helped her stumble up, he heard Beau take another flying leap at the balor from behind – when Molly whipped round, he saw that she’d gotten enough height to give blackening his eyes a good effort. Yasha didn’t hesitate to leap to her friend’s aid, leaping up to spring off the hilt of its massive blade so that she could drag her own sword across its neck. Its thick flesh and thicker muscle kept it from being a lethal blow, but another spray of blood still arched out to splatter down all over the burning room, and the divine force behind the blow still made it roar in pain, clamping a hand over the wound before swatting Yasha brutally back down to the ground. The lollipop arrowed up to swat it hard between the shoulders, distracting it enough for Molly to cut into its back again and again before going spectral once more. Over his head, Molly caught sight of a deeper, darker smoke curling upwards, towards the stairs, and recognized Fjord’s hex for what it was.  

“Ignore the rabble, kill the vampire!” Trent barked – Molly caught sight of a flash of movement from the stairs and guessed that Trent was trying to stumble higher, out of the smoke, even as the hex curled around him like a hungry serpent. He couldn’t understand the balor’s reply but Molly’s heart leapt into its throat when this time, its sword lashed out to where Caleb was lurking on the wall.

Gritting his teeth, Caleb waved a hand so that a shield flashed into being around him but even with his mage armor it wasn’t enough – the blade caught him in the side, biting in with enough force to knock him off the wall and send him sliding across the floor, through the flames. Molly was dizzy with fear and felt himself moving to try and help, to intercept the blow or do something before the balor could lash out with its whip and drag Caleb well and truly out of safety.

But help came from the shadows instead – before their foe could bring the whip to bear, three crossbow bolts fired from the shadows, _thunking_ into its jaw, the gash on its neck, and one eye. With a scream of pain that shook the rafters, it whipped round to face where the attack had come from. Molly didn’t see Nott, hardly anyone could see Nott if she didn’t want to be found, but the balor was either lucky or smart because this time, when the whip lashed out it grabbed Nott from where she’d been hidden under an end table and dragged her, shrieking and scrabbling and burning, back into view.

 _“Nott!”_ Caleb roared, and Molly saw that he was already back on his feet, heedless of the flames now scorching through his clothes and licking his flesh. New skin grew over the burns just as fast as they formed, and any pain he felt was utterly, obviously secondary to Nott’s plight. Caleb held out both hands, and a ray of that same sickly green energy he’d shielded Yasha from fired from his palms to hit the balor hard in its side – as Molly watched, he saw its flesh being eaten away, to reveal muscle and even bone beneath, a chunk of which disintegrated entirely to ash and left only a bleeding, gaping wound behind. The balor howled in pain, and between its legs Molly saw Nott take advantage of the chance to wriggle free of the whip and dart away. He saw the look on Caleb’s face – not the predatory ferocity or bloodthirsty glee that had marked him during the battle thus far, only simple, heartrending relief to see her safe.

Then Molly saw a gleaming glass sphere hit Caleb squarely in the forehead, where it shattered in a blaze of purple light that engulfed the wizard for a moment. By the time he reached Caleb’s side it had faded, leaving Caleb apparently unharmed, simply swaying on the spot and blinking dazedly. “Hey!” Molly called, gripping his shoulders to try and get Caleb to look at him. “You all right?”

Caleb focused on him quickly, which was reassuring at least. But at the sound of Molly’s voice, he frowned in concern that quickly faded to visible panic. He seized Molly’s hands in a bruising grip and opened his mouth, but only a broken little “ah” emerged, barely audible over the tumult seizing the rest of the house. He tried again and again to speak but nothing except disjointed sounds emerged, each one frightening Caleb more and more – he hadn’t been silenced, it was as if he’d forgotten how to speak entirely.

And if he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t cast.

The thought somehow didn’t bring any panic with it, only cold, leaden resignation. _Of course_ , Molly thought distantly. _Of course_. Of course their wizard would be utterly debilitated when Trent still had so much magic to burn. How would their luck have ever gone any other way?

He heard Beau scream in pain behind him, and Molly steeled his resolve. What was done was done. No time to lament their misfortune, now was the time to get back in the fight.

Caleb whimpered in panic when Molly pulled his hands away, so Molly threaded his fingers through Caleb’s hair and pulled him closer to kiss his forehead. “I know, dearest, I know,” he said. “It’s okay. We’ll take care of this. Just get somewhere safe, okay? Can you do that for me?”

He didn’t know if Caleb heard or understood him, but when Molly pulled his hands away, Caleb didn’t try to stop him. When Molly gave his shoulders a light shove, Caleb took the hint, then turned and ran.

Molly didn’t wait to see where he went to hide – he whipped back around instead, swords at the ready, teeth bared, and dashed to Beau’s defense. The haste spell had clearly, obviously broken – she was swaying on the spot with exhaustion, barely able to even stay on her knees. She was bleeding hard from the stomach, scorched by flames and lightning – before the balor could finish her off, Molly and Yasha both slid into place in front of her to shield her however they could. Yasha caught the whip on her blade and, in her fury, nearly tore it out of its hands. Molly snarled in Infernal, feeling the mark on his back tear itself open so that the demon’s eyes went black and bleeding and its sword swing went wide.

“Hang on, Beau, I’m coming, I’m coming!” Jester cried, and Molly heard her racing forward. He and Yasha both glanced back to see her helping the monk up. Beau bit back a sob, clutching at her bleeding stomach, weak and bowed with pain even as the exhaustion faded. Jester closed her eyes and whispered a prayer, then a light of pure healing passed from her to Beau, knitting the wound and leaving her with only scratches, scorch marks, and bruises.

“Back in the game?” Molly called, equal parts invitation and inquiry.

She took a shaky breath, forced her eyes open, and grinned. “Back in the game.”

Continuing the fight was so much harder without Caleb around to counter Trent, however. Molly, Yasha, and a newly revitalized Beau were enough to keep the balor occupied while Fjord continued battering away at Trent from a distance. Jester, much to her frustration, was soon left entirely focused on healing, taking only the occasional swing with her spiritual weapon and otherwise trusting to her spirit guardians to ravage the giant demon.

The three remaining melee fighters of the Mighty Nein settled into a familiar rhythm, circling themselves around the balor in a loose triangle so that someone was always in a position to flank and aid the other’s attack. This close, the heat of the fire was oppressive and suffocating even to Molly. Yasha, for her part, seemed resolved simply to power through the heat. Beau was able to better keep up with the aid of some resistance magic from Jester. But the smoke was starting to grow thick, making it hard to breathe or see. This wasn’t as much of a problem where the balor itself was concerned – it was so big as to be genuinely impossible to miss, and the crackling magic which wreathed its weapons meant that they were still easy to see coming. They weren’t always easy to dodge, not when their reach was so long, not when their foe was so deceptively fast. But at least it was usually only one of them taking damage at a time, damage it was then easier for Jester to keep up with.

But while they were hyperfocused on the balor, they couldn’t keep an eye out for Trent and his magic. He battered them with ice, lightning, acid, and psychic attacks that made them double over to cough up blood. Molly saw it when the old man fired a bolt of something from the stairs that hit Yasha solidly in the chest with enough force to send her staggering, and yet when Molly hurried to check up on her, he saw that she was apparently uninjured. This seemed to surprise her as much as him, even in the depths of her rage, but Molly wasn’t about to question a bit of good luck. “’Atta girl!” he called to her instead, and she grinned back at him through the smoke.

What might have been seconds or minutes later – time had ceased to have any meaning some time ago – as Molly continued his slow, perilous circuit around the beast, he bumped into a piece of furniture that hadn’t been there before. He stumbled back, reached back on reflex to steady it before it fell, and saw Yasha’s face, frozen in mid-snarl, etched in stone.

The sight of her petrified very nearly shattered his resolve where nothing else had. But over her shoulder, he saw Beau continuing to lay into the balor with all she had, roaring in ferocity. She still needed him. Everyone still needed him.

“Jester!” he called, as he raced to Beau’s aid. “Yasha needs help!” Through the smoke and fire, he couldn’t trust that she’d be able to see without help who was in danger and who was hanging on. Sure enough, he saw her bolting in the direction of his voice as he hurried away to flank the balor again, his swords a blazing beacon in the dark.

“Where the hell is Caleb?!” Fjord snarled from somewhere in the chaos.

“Not in any position to help us right now!” Molly snapped back. He didn’t know beyond that, and that terrified him. But he swallowed down the terror, choked it back, and kept fighting. _There’s time for that later_. The balor was definitely starting to flag, too. He and Beau could do this. They _had_ to do this.

“Hey, hey, _hey!_ ” Fjord barked, and Molly thought he saw him stumble past through the smoke, towards the stairs. “Oh no, you don’t _get_ to run!” Up above, he saw a hunched shadow that might have been Trent stumbling up the stairs, stumbling further away, and Molly knew with a cold twist of certainty in his heart that the second he thought himself clear he would open a dimension door, cast a spell of teleportation, something, _anything_ , and be lost to them so that all of this was for nothing…

There was no mistaking Nott as she leapt from the shadows at the top of the stairs, barreling hard into Trent so that they both went down. Molly couldn’t see them from this angle but he could hear her snarling, could hear cloth and flesh tearing. “Where is it, _where is it_ , _give it to me you—”_

Behind him, Beau hit the demon so hard in the sternum that Molly heard something _crack_ with an unnatural loudness. She let out a whoop of triumph and, operating entirely on instinct him, he moved back to add his own damage to the barrage to try and throw it off from retaliating.

But the balor didn’t retaliate with its massive longsword or its flaming whip. Instead, it threw back its head and _howled_ in its own clashing, guttural tongue, with a force that almost shook the burning house down on their heads there and then. Molly staggered, clutching his ears, bracing himself for whatever fresh hell was about to be unleashed.

The balor’s final trick turned out to be so much worse than he’d feared. As Molly stared in horror, four more portals twisted themselves open in midair, scattered around the entrance hall, and four more demons pushed their way through – they looked like sickly grey, emaciated harpies with unnaturally long limbs, flapping their tattered wings to stay aloft and chattering eagerly to each other as they surveyed the room. They didn’t look anywhere near as fearsome as the balor did, but there were still four of them. There were only five of the Mighty Nein still in any fit state to fight and Jester’s healing wouldn’t last forever.

Dimly, distantly, he felt himself slump to his knees, staring numbly at the renewed crop of demons as they sized up their prey. _We can’t do this_ , he thought dully. _We can’t win_. It was over and they hadn’t noticed until well past too late…

A bolt of light shot out of the shadows and embedded itself in one of the winged demons’ chests, sending it tumbling to the floor with a shriek. Another one followed it, almost taking out an eye. A green blur dashed past Molly, bearing two radiant daggers, to leap up onto the fallen foe and start carving into it with merciless abandon.

“Nott…?” Molly stammered, utterly at a loss.

Two hands seized his arms and hauled him back up. One of the hands was furred.

“Not exactly,” Cree drawled.

Molly had just a moment to stare at her before Beau called out a warning as one of their new enemies dived at them, screeching. The sound jangled all throughout his nerves, so discordant as to nearly make every muscle seize, but as Cree shoved him clear and Beau cracked the monster across the throat with her staff, Molly was able to shake off the effect and steady his grip on his swords.

“What are you doing here?!” he called to her instead. “Pretty sure Caleb said he told you all to stay out of it!” He’d admitted later on that part of why it had taken him so long to get Cree upstairs had been because he’d been putting the other Tomb Takers under his thrall as well.

“He did!” Beau called, as she leapt up and wrenched a demon’s wing so hard something else snapped and they both fell hard to the ground. “I suggested otherwise once I knocked some sense into ‘em!”

No wonder there’d been such a long gap between when she’d gone downstairs and when she’d come back up. Molly knew from one look at Cree that there would be a reckoning when this was over, for just absolutely _everything_ that had happened over the past several days. But suddenly it seemed possible again that this just might end with them all alive. The thought made him grin and then laugh, loud and long and wild. Cree clearly did not share his amusement, but she still set to work with a rapiers that hummed with thunderous force.

A white-haired dwarf – Zoran, his name was Zoran – hung back and took carefully aimed shots with a crossbow of his own. A wild-eyed elf – Otis, of course it was, it was a marvel that he’d survived this long – swung a viciously spiked morning-star to crush muscle and bone. Tyffial had his daggers and his mutations, and together, the Mighty Nein and the Tomb Takers helped turn back the tides.

But it was still a great many foes to account for and a lot of damage that needed doing before the fight could be won. The balor remained the worst of it – Molly knew, he _knew_ that it was on its last legs, especially with Fjord changing his focus to battering it with eldritch blasts instead of Trent. Trent was out of sight, maybe fled, maybe dead, but Fjord had taken up his position on the stairs to get a better angle of attack. Even so, the balor kept up a relentless attack with whip and blade against anyone who got within reach, and it seemed as if _everyone_ in the hall was in reach. On top of that, its demonic friends soon proved to have the ability to vomit poisonous spores that made anyone who got infected start bleeding out from the inside. Molly and most of the Tomb Takers knew a blood maledict to purge the system, but even with the five of them together, there were only so many times they could do it before overtaxing themselves.

So Molly could taste blood in the back of his throat as the poison pulsed through him and he cut down the third demon spawn. Stumbling against a sudden surge of dizziness, he looked around frantically for the fourth. He couldn’t find it through the smoke and flames, but he did see it when the balor brought its sword around with a roar and opened Beau from navel to neck in one brutal, lightning-charged swing. Perhaps it was fear for its own life that made it especially fierce and fast in that moment, but the attack was a blur, and she never saw it coming. The slash of the sword hit her with enough force to make her spin on her own axis before she hit the ground, twitching and gurgling, blood pooling out onto the floor again.

“Beau!” Molly cried, before the smoke made him devolve into a fit of broken coughing that left his shirt-front spattered with more blood. Every limb felt heavy and slow with exhaustion and pain, but he dragged himself over to her anyway as the balor started to ready its whip for what would doubtless be the killing blow. It would burn her alive from the inside out if he caught her, if the whip didn’t snap her neck first. But she was still breathing _now_ , she was still alive _now_ and he had to do something, he had to…

He knew by the time he reached her that he was too slow, too weak to drag her to safety in time. It wouldn’t even be a near thing. Molly tried anyone, because to not try was unthinkable. Every inch of him screamed with pain and so did Beau, curling up on herself and trying to hold her guts but she still let herself be pulled, she still knew he was trying, she knew she wasn’t going to die alone…

In the end, operating on blind, desperate instinct, he dropped to his knees, shielded her with his own body, and braced himself, but the killing blow never came.

Instead, Caleb leapt out of the flames with a ravening snarl, clearing enough height in one go to fix himself like a leech to the balor’s shoulder. That alone was enough to distract it from shock and alarm alone, but then Caleb swung himself over enough to cling to the back of its neck instead. Molly had just enough time to see his lover’s fangs flash in the firelight before he drove them down into the demon’s throat.

It shouldn’t have worked. Molly knew how thick the balor’s flesh was, how hard it was to cut through. Beau herself had said that ordinary sharp edges would do nothing. And yet, the balor let out a _screech_ of pain – Molly felt the floor shake as it actually staggered back a step, reaching back to try and pry the vampire from its throat.

 _Vampire fangs don’t just tear flesh_ , he thought, another memory coming to him from nowhere. _They devour life_.

“Fjord!” Molly called hoarsely, but wherever he was, Fjord could see the situation and already understood what had to be done. The black hex smoke swirled up out of nowhere to seize the balor’s limbs, sapping away some of its hellish strength, making it harder for it to force Caleb off while Caleb was clinging tightly. It still tried – its huge red hand nearly enveloped Caleb entirely as if he were little more than a tick, crushing with impossible force so that Molly wondered wildly if he could hear Caleb’s bones starting to break. But Caleb held on, alternating between pained whimpers and feral growls, as he dug his fangs in deeper and deeper, chewing and carving through its flesh, until…

…he must have torn an artery, if something so big and so monstrous had something so mundane as an artery to tear. But suddenly, a torrent of viscous black blood spurted forth from the wound, covering Caleb and coating the walls as the balor let out a high, gurgling scream. It stumbled and staggered around the hall, crashing into the stairs so that they crumbled, taking out a balcony with a wild swipe of its fist, but it was dying and it knew it and there was nothing more to be done.

Until at last, at last, it fell to its knees and then slumped to its side – its head hit a wall as it fell with enough force to partially collapse it, making the rest of the house groan perilously. The balor was well past caring or even knowing, however – its bloody gurgles faded with painful slowness to a death rattle and at last to silence, as its blood continued to pour forth in spurts, thick enough to douse the flames in places even if the mansion was otherwise and obviously a lost cause.

And there stood Caleb, slowly staggering to his feet on the balor’s back. He was utterly coated in blood from head to toe, nothing but a black shadow outlined against the moon and stars. But he was alive, and the balor was dead, and Beau was still sucking in weak, rasping breaths in his arms. They were all alive.

They’d all done it.

“Is everybody okay?” Fjord asked, picking himself up off the ground and rubbing his head.

“Beau’s not,” Molly rasped.

Jester limped over, took a second to half-heartedly beat out the flames in her skirt, and touched Beau’s forehead with an uncharacteristic tenderness. Her wounds eased enough to no longer look life threatening, enough that Molly was reasonably sure they could get her outside without killing her from pain.

“I took Yasha outside,” Jester added, smiling in relief as some of the palor faded from Beau’s cheeks. “I saved a restoration spell just for her.”

“Maybe one for Caleb, too?” Molly asked, nodding towards the wizard. “Trent did something to his head.”

She frowned, worrying at her lower lip. “I don’t know if I can do both of them. Caleb might have to wait until tomorrow.”

“That’s okay,” Molly said because it was, under the circumstances with Jester already visibly trembling from weariness. “He’ll understand. And hell, maybe when we fix this, he’ll get his mind back anyway.”

Somehow, that thought didn’t bring relief – only a cold trickle of dread down his spine. Molly didn’t entirely understand why until he’d looked around the room and realized what, realized _who_ was missing.

“Where’s--?” he asked, and that was all he had time to say before the balor’s corpse exploded in a torrent of fire and force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Caleb kills a balor by biting it in the throat" is such a good sentence and I'm glad I was able to bring it into being.
> 
> Fun fact! Balors have no resistance to necrotic damage! So while Caleb's teeth probably count as "non-magical piercing weapons", there's nothing stopping him from still inflicting the necrotic side of a drain attack. Like, it wasn't a lot of damage. But the rest of the team had worn it down so much that it didn't need to be a lot of damage. 
> 
> That was a cool thing to realize.


	17. Heart and Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mighty Nein drag themselves out of the fire and take stock. They find in doing so that they've won an important victory against all odds. And yet, it might just have come at too high of a price to bear paying. 
> 
> Caleb, at least, isn't about to take any of this lying down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, but an important one. So important that I thought it deserved to stand on its own.

The boom of thunder jolted Molly back to consciousness, just in time to feel cold air on his face.

Someone – Fjord – helped lower him down to the grass to collapse, before standing up and calling back towards the burning house. “Jester! Anyone else in there?!”

“I don’t know! It’s getting really bad in there!” Molly heard Jester calling back. He tried to turn his head to catch sight of her, but couldn’t quite seem to focus on which way was up. Instead, he found himself staring up at Yasha – still transfixed and petrified in stone, frozen in the act of raising her blade to strike, a snarl etched into her face. Jester had somehow gotten her out of the house and settled a few feet away, safe from the fire and the collapse. His heart still ached with worry, but he was pretty sure he remembered Jester reassuring him. Telling him this would be fixed. Maybe he’d hallucinated that. He hoped not.

Molly let his gaze fall to the grass beside him, where he saw Beau laid out nearby – there was a bad moment where he couldn’t tell if she was breathing, but then she gave a weak, wet cough and he settled back. She looked like hell, visibly in pain, obviously dazed, but most importantly she looked stable. Molly couldn’t imagine he looked any better.

He turned his head to the other side with significant effort. Jester and Cree were supporting Otis, helping him stumble out through the hole in the wall made by the balor’s collapse. Fjord was standing by to help. Tyffial was bent over Zoran’s motionless form a safe distance away. As Molly watched blearily, they got Otis settled down beside Zoran. Then Jester bent to stabilize him while Cree and Fjord drew a short distance away to talk.

 Molly frowned – he still felt dizzy and incoherent. His bell had been thoroughly rung by the explosion; even with his fire resistance, it was a miracle he hadn’t died. But there was still something wrong here…something he’d been trying to see before everything blew up in his face…

Something…someone…

He flinched, thoughts flying apart again, as a face came into view. A blackened, red-eyed nightmare was peering at him, their face upside-down from his perspective. But then the figure reached down to run bloody fingers through his hair, making gentle, indistinct shushing sounds, and Molly relaxed as his wits caught up to him again. _Caleb_.

He curled his fingers gently around Caleb’s wrist, brought it to his mouth to kiss. The tang of balor blood was abominably bitter on his lips, but he steadfastly ignored it. “Hey there,” he murmured. “You were amazing in there. Pretty sure you saved all of us. Thank you.” He could tell as his vision cleared still further that Caleb still didn’t remotely understand the exact words being said to him, but he seemed to respond to the tone well enough. Molly saw him relax, saw him smile beneath the coating of blood. He caught Molly’s hand and brought it to his face, nuzzled his cheek against it, ever-so-careful despite his otherwise mindless state.

Molly caught sight of a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye – he looked round to see Jester stepping up to the petrified Yasha. She ran softly glowing hands along her form, as if massaging life back into her frozen limbs and indeed, wherever Jester’s fingers touched the stony prison faded away to warm flesh and living muscle. The vice around Molly’s heart loosened a further but did not ease entirely because _there was something they were missing_ and maybe once he could reliably tell which way was up he’d remember it but maybe by then it would be too late.

Caleb made a soft, inquisitive noise above him. He gently tilted Molly’s head back to face him, frowning in obvious puzzlement. Molly forced a reassuring smile and rubbed a hand along his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he croaked. “We’ll get you fixed. Just be patient for me a little longer.” Yes, now details were starting to filter back. He remembered Nott pouncing on Trent out of nowhere – she must have caught sight of where he was hiding the scroll on his person. Surely, she would have been able to overpower an injured old man at close range. Surely she had the scroll by now and that was why she…she…

…that was why he hadn’t seen her before or after the explosion.

Molly sat bolt upright with a gasp, only to nearly fall back again as his entire body protested the movement. “Nott--!” he gasped, as Caleb moved to brace him. “Where is, where—”

As the stab of fresh pain receded and his vision cleared once more, he was just in time to see Cree step into place behind Caleb, raising a heavy sabre that glowed with radiant light, ready it for for one, brutal chop—

When Molly looked back on what happened next, he remembered it in painfully slow motion. He remembered forcing his agonized, protesting body into a crouch, shoving Caleb out of the way with one hand and fumbling for a blade with the other and it was surely a merciful miracle of luck that Fjord just so happened to have set one of his scimitars down within reach.

He remembered staring up at Cree and knowing, knowing down to his bones that the truce of necessity which had brought them together to kill Trent Ikithon was well and truly off now.

She missed her attempt at decapitating Caleb but recovered quickly, keeping her poise and balance perfectly, and Molly remembered a wild moment of wondering if she would go for Caleb again or finish Molly off before Caleb could understand what was happening…

And then he remembered the bolt of golden lightning lancing down from the clear, cloudless sky like the Dawnfather himself had reached down from Celestia to rip them all apart.

The lightning struck Caleb solidly, with enough force that both Molly and Cree were sent flying back away from him. Molly hit the ground hard enough that his vision exploded with pain, rolling like a ragdoll a few times before he came to a merciful stop. His ears were ringing, and as that ringing faded he heard all his other friends and all the conscious Tomb Takers crying out in alarm, calling out to each other, wondering what was going on.

Hands were on him, helping him sit, helping him stand and lean against her familiar, solid weight. Yasha. Their eyes met and he couldn’t even force a smile at the sight of her – all he saw was the fear in her that he knew was mirrored in him, before they started at the great, blindingly bright thunderbolt that was still lighting up Caleb like a jagged, miniature sun. Molly saw his silhouette trapped within it, twitching and writhing, held suspended off the ground by the sheer force of the power coursing through him. 

It seemed to take an eternity to fade. Even when it did, it left an afterimage against Molly’s eyes every time he blinked. But he could still see Caleb slump back to the ground on his knees, scoured clean of blood by whatever that magic had been, shaking like a leaf in a gale.

He could see it when Caleb lifted his head and opened his blue, blue eyes, hazy and unfocused and bright and _alive_.

 _Caleb_ was alive – there was a flush in his cheeks and he was breathing out of something more than stuttering, half-remembered habit. Molly knew, he just _knew_ , that if he got close enough to check then he would find no lethally sharp fangs fit for tearing a balor’s throat out. He would just find regular human teeth and a regular, human boyfriend.

Shock and joy and the last drops of adrenaline he could wring out of his exhausted body gave him the strength to walk, then to _run_. All around him, he saw and heard the rest of the Mighty Nein realizing what had happened, realizing that they’d been somehow successful after all, and then slowly shifting themselves past their own aches and pains to go to Caleb, too.

Molly got there first, sliding gracelessly to his knees before Caleb, reaching out to grab his shoulders and hold him up. Caleb stared at him dazedly for a moment, and there was intelligence and lucidity in his gaze again. “Mollymauk…” Then he beamed, slow and hesitant and disbelieving and _happy_. Molly felt a delighted, overwhelmed, overjoyed laugh bubbling up in his chest and didn’t even try to fight it. He simply slid his hands up to cradle Caleb’s face and tipped his head forward so their brows pressed together.

“You’re warm,” Molly whispered in wonder, and giggled happily. “You’re _so_ warm.”

They kissed once, just once – he could feel that they both wanted to kiss more, but there were still matters to address, questions to be asked and answered. He could rationally accept that. So when Caleb pulled away and looked around, Molly let him do so, though not without a pang of disappointment.

“How—” Caleb whispered, running his hands through his hair. “ _How_ , I, I mean—”

“Nott,” Molly heard himself say, giving the easy answer, the _only_ answer. “I saw her go for Trent. She must have gotten the scroll.” He looked around for her and so did Caleb, expecting to see the little goblin hurrying towards them or else celebrating the successful casting of the most powerful spell she would ever wield.

They didn’t see her, and Molly knew they realized in the same moment that this was because she wasn’t there to see. He’d let himself hope for just a moment that the casting of the spell meant she’d escaped the mansion successfully, unseen as Nott did so many things. Losing track of Nott wasn’t inherently a bad thing. She was _so_ easy to lose track of, partly by her own design. But to have Caleb sitting beside him and still see no sign of her scurrying over to welcome her boy back to humanity meant there could only be one explanation.

No words were said. No words needed to be said. Caleb was a very intelligent man and could piece together this one, awful truth without anyone else’s aid.

“Nott,” he breathed in a voice choked with horror. Then he scrambled up to his feet, moving easily, moving without pain and with more energy than any of the rest of the Mighty Nein had left between them. He turned towards the mansion, staring up at the towering inferno it had become since the balor was summoned. It was a hellish beacon against the night sky, a second sun, groaning precariously on the verge of collapse.

And Nott was still inside it.

 _“Nott!”_ Caleb roared, and raced towards the burning house.

As Molly watched, numb with horror and aching with exhaustion, Caleb was brought up short when the entire wall partially collapsed, blocking the hole they’d escaped from in a tangle of rubble. But he did not back away, he did not retreat. Without looking away from the house, he murmured a few arcane words and ran his hands along his arms, chest, back, legs. Bright blue flames bloomed forth wherever his hands passed, licking at his body but not burning, not even so much as singing his clothes.

Then for a moment that stretched into a minor eternity, Caleb simply stared at the burning house, feet braced and arms akimbo like a man prepared to meet a charging troll without giving ground. He barely had to raise his voice but, when he spoke, it carried all throughout the yard, even above the sounds of distant screams and panic filtering in through the fence.

“Get down.”

Then he extended a hand towards the blockade, clenched his fist, and swiped it hard to the right. An entire broken support beam tore itself lose so violently that it broke in half again. Both chunks flew over the gate with the force of Caleb’s mental toss and hit the streets beyond so hard they bounced three times, causing even more a tumult. But even then, as the house shifted and creaked, that only left a gap just big enough for one person to squeeze through.

Caleb took one step towards it, then paused just long enough to look back all his assembled companions. No words were said, but no words needed to be said. In his steady, unflinching gaze, Molly saw that Caleb was telling them all to stay safe, to stay back, that he would handle this without them putting themselves in any more danger.

Looking at him now, wreathed in flames but not burning, standing before a hole he’d ripped in the wall with his own bare hands, Molly believed him.

So he nodded to Caleb, and the others must have given similar signs of agreement because Caleb nodded once, turned away, and raced into the flames. They heard him calling for Nott all the while, until the sound of fire swallowed even that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, on top of having his humanity restored, Caleb got his (diminished) HP restored back to max, his status effects removed, and all his spell slots back. 
> 
> Nott worded her wish *really* well. 
> 
> And if you're wondering what spells those were that he cast, they were "Investiture of Flame" and "Telekinesis"!


	18. Sunrise and Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb closes the book on one chapter of his life, and finds himself confronted with the idea of having a future. Separated by flames and united in purpose, Molly manages to do the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much like in Traveling Hearts, I chose the level everyone would be at during the story for a very specific reason. 
> 
> You're about to find out what that reason was.

With his mind restored to him, doubtless due to the power of Nott’s wish, it was easy for Caleb to look back on the fight and compare it to what he found there in the house and then quickly, quickly put the pieces together. His haste wasn’t for his own sake – the fire couldn’t touch him, not after the spell he’d cast. But every second he wasted was a second Nott might not have.

The Mighty Nein and the Tomb Takers together had only killed three of the four vrocs summoned by the balor in its last desperate act. He found the fourth on the second floor not far from the stairs, seared by magic and peppered with crossbow bolts. Perhaps it had gone for Trent under its own initiative, seeing only a weakened target, not learning its mistake until too late. Perhaps the balor had directed it to do so, as a way of taking vengeance on the human who had presumed to command it, and who in doing so had led it to its death.

Either way, that probably would have been around about the time Nott had jumped Trent to try and grab the scroll of his person, so the vroc would have gone for them both. The thought of Nott and Trent, fighting together even for a few seconds to ensure their own survival, made him smile grimly at the bitter, twisted irony.

Then he hopped right over its body and carried on down the hall, following the trail of blood shining black in the roaring firelight, calling for Nott all the while. The smoke couldn’t touch him, and so his voice rang out loud and clear over the roar of flames and the  creak of wood. He moved at a brisk walk, fearful of breaking into a run for fear of making the floor collapse beneath his feet. The flames couldn’t touch him. A fall would still hurt.

He wasn’t far at all from the body before he came upon another collapsed section of wall, the rubble half-consuming the hallway and the sky outside visible through the smoke. Caleb paused just long enough to assess its fitness to take his weight, and then he started forward, meaning to squeeze himself through the rubble and carry on.

A terribly weak voice calling his name brought him up short, however. It was the wrong voice and the wrong name but it still cut him to the bone because he still knew that name and he knew that voice.

“Bren…” Trent rasped weakly again, from where he was half-buried under the rubble. Caleb stepped back down onto the floor and turned to survey his old tormentor, feeling cold down his spine and cold in his heart and lead in the pit of his stomach.

Both of Trent’s legs were trapped, one arm was broken. A few jagged crossbow bolts protruded from his shoulders and back. The burns from the fire mixed with the burns from Fjord’s magic. He looked broken. He looked pathetic. He looked _mortal_. The man who had ruined Caleb’s life, had turned him into a weapon and used him to kill his parents, who had abused him and lied to him and broken him in turn, was utterly helpless and at his mercy now.

And as Trent laboriously lifted his head to stare up at Caleb, he saw that Trent knew it, too. Whatever lies or bargains or excuses he might be able to come up with even now, they would fall on deaf ears.

He tried again. Perhaps that wasn’t so surprising. What did he have to lose. “Bren, we can still do so much good, you and I…we can fix this, you, you have to understand…”

All at once, Caleb’s heart started to race, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. His fingers itched with power, with the motions of a dozen different spells he could call to hand. Trent would still die, but Caleb could make it last, could make him hurt, could make him _suffer_. He’d imagined it so many times, it had kept him warm on all the cold nights Trent had subjected him to in the asylum and after. He would deserve it. Any of his friends would agree.

And yet…

And yet…

Caleb clenched his fists, took a deep breath, steadied his heart and refocused his mind on what and who was truly important. Because every second he wasted on vengeance was a second Nott might not have.

“I don’t have time for you,” he said instead. With a delicate telekinetic shove, he shifted a crucial piece of rubble so that the entire mess collapsed fully onto Trent with a clatter and _splat_.

He barely had a second to process what he’d done before he heard the floor start to shake dangerously, the impact too much for it. Caleb took a running leap as it gave way beneath him, landing precariously on the other side as the floor, the portion of the wall, and what remained of the body all fell to the ground floor below.

He almost looked back. He almost looked down. He caught himself just in time, and carried on instead, calling for Nott all the while.

There was a bad moment where he found a blackened corpse laying half-collapsed out of a doorway. But, upon hastily racing over to check, he found that they were a stranger, perhaps a servant who hadn’t managed to escape the house in time. They were halfling-sized, however, goblin-sized, and so his heart ached for them. He paused just long enough to murmur a few words before he carried on.

The stairs up to the third floor were entirely blocked, but that was fine, because it was at the base of those stairs that he found Nott. Caleb’s heart soared with relief as he made out details – the crossbow laying beside her, the mask dangling on its ribbons around her neck. Her hands were empty but of course they were, the scroll would have burned away after she cast the spell that saved him – it might have burned away in any case after too much time in the fire, it was a miracle that she’d kept her wits about her long enough to cast it in all this mess.

He dashed over to her with a cry of her name, preparing to shift any rubble that pinned her, but as he slid to his knees beside her he saw that she was free and clear. Of course she was, his quick little friend, clever enough to hide from any danger and quick enough to leave any foe baffled. He remembered just in time to dismiss the investiture of flame surrounding him before he reached for her, lest the flames that shielded him burn her, too. The heat was immediately, violently oppressive on all sides of him, but that was fine. They wouldn’t be here for long.

“Nott,” he whispered, gently gathering her into his arms. One leg did seem injured, perhaps by the vroc or perhaps by Trent’s magic, but that was all right. He would carry her – he wasn’t strong, not anymore, but she weighed so little and he’d had so much practice. “Nott, it’s all right. I’m going to get you out of here, and then Jester will heal whatever hurts and, and it will be all right, everything will be—”

Then her head lolled in his arms, and he saw that half her face was smeared with blood from an awful, awful wound in her head.

He realized then that she was already dead.

The house, the fire, the entire rest of the world fell away in fragments around him. Nothing remained but her still chest and her slack face. It wasn’t the first time that Nott had died but the last time had been so brief, Jester had gotten her back up and breathing so quickly that in all the fighting Caleb hadn’t had time to realize it had happened until it was over with. He’d never had to see her like this before. He’d once died himself rather than risk ever having to see her like this.

It was too much.

He knew what he should do. He should take her down to Jester, and Jester would pull out her diamonds and lay them on Nott’s chest and they would all gather around and tell her how wonderful and good and _needed_ she was and then Nott would live again.

Except Jester had cast so much magic today. Would she still have enough power tonight to raise the dead, or would she have to wait until morning? The very idea made Caleb want to be sick. Waiting until morning, waiting an _hour_ , that was unacceptable. An hour without Nott at his side was suddenly, ferociously unacceptable. Her last act in all the world had been to _save him_ and he _would not leave her alone now._

Besides, a cleric’s magic to raise the dead was fallible. It could fail. The idea that Nott’s spirit might refuse to return was incomprehensible to him, but the rest of the Nein might fail in their part, or else her connection to the world might have grown too weak after her other deaths. Through no fault of her own, Nott might gone forever and there might be nothing Jester could do about it.

It was too much. The very idea made him want to lay down and die with her.

He would not let her go. He _could not_ let her go.

So he didn’t.

So he ran.

*  *  *

The Mighty Nein, the Tomb Takers, and probably every Crownsguard and civilian gathered outside the walls saw it when the figure burst through the second floor window. But they did not fall, they flew instead, flew in a blur of speed away from the house and towards the edge of the city, trailing smoke and fire behind them like a falling star.

“Caleb,” Yasha whispered, as they all stared fixedly towards where their friend was already fading from sight in the distance.

“But where’s Nott?” Jester breathed. It was a good question, and one Molly ached to ask, too. Why was Caleb running away from them, what had _happened_ in there?

He couldn’t think of any good answer, but he also knew there were no more answers to be found here. There was nothing left for them in Rexxentraum at all. _Pack up the show and on to the next town_.

“We’ve gotta get after him.” Fjord said, turning away, turning back towards the gates. “Jester, get Beau up. Yasha, you help me get the cart moving. Molly—”

Molly had his own ideas. It wasn’t quite a conscious decision, what he did next. It seemed like he blinked and he was moving, stalking towards Cree. The tabaxi was staring in dumbfounded disbelief at where Caleb had gone. Then he blinked again and he was right behind her and before she could fully realize as much he’d drawn a sword and rested its edge ever-so-carefully against her throat. There was a moment of stillness, a moment of wondering if she’d do something stupid, and then she slowly, slowly raised her hands up.

“So,” Molly drawled. “Got anything to say for yourself?”

Cree snorted derisively, which was an interesting choice for a woman in her position. “He was a monster,” she said. “He violated my mind, _all_ our minds.”

Molly inclined his head. “True enough. But we did stop him making a meal out of you, and break his control over you, and he honestly only did it because you kicked up a fuss about us finding a place to hide from the other two vampires. Who, by the way, actually murdered me last night.” That did make a frisson of tension go through her shoulders, though he couldn’t have guessed the exact reasons why. “I made sure to return the favor.”

He wondered if she knew what he meant by those words. He wondered if it was something Lucien had always been able to do, and maybe seeing that glowing specter Beau had described was part of why she’d looked at Lucien like he could walk on water. He waited for her to say something. She didn’t. So he carried on: “You were always going to help us fight Trent. That was for your own sake as well as ours’. And Caleb’s not a monster anymore, Cree. So fair play to you but this _ends. Now._ We’ve done our part to hurt each other, we’ve done our part to help, so we can walk away right now, owe each other nothing.”

“That was the offer you made before.”

A disbelieving, slightly hysterical laugh burst out of him that almost made the sword waver, but only almost. “And then we got jumped by three vampires in the street! I’m _sorry_! Sometimes life makes plans for us. Life might make plans for us again, for all I know. But considering that the best thing for us will probably be to take a long vacation from the Empire after this, somehow I doubt that.”

 He thought he might just have heard her chuckle. “A fair point.” A little of the tension bled from her shoulders. “Fine. As you say, he is not a monster any longer. Though I had no way of knowing that would ever have any chance of being the case when I tried to finish him off.”

Molly inclined his head. “An equally fair point.”

She turned her head just enough to look back over her shoulder at him, and he let her. The firelight made her eyes glow like miniature moons, flat and unreadable.

But then she smiled, and that was easy enough to read.

“Very well,” she said. “Let it end here. Let us part ways not as friends, or enemies, simply as…nothing. No debts owed, no grudges held. We go about our own business, we go our own ways.”

Molly didn’t bother to hide a sigh of relief. Maybe it was a sign of weakness but to hell with it, he was pretty sure he was owed a few of those. “Fine by me,” he said. With a dramatic flourish, he removed the sword from her throat, sheathed it back at his side with its twin, and turned away. “Have a good life, Cree.”

As he took the first few steps away from her, he was hyperaware that he had left his back wide open, that he was _so_ tired, that she could skewer him now and he’d never see her coming, have no hope of defending himself.

But to get faith, sometimes you had to be the one to show it first. He’d learned that as strongly as he’d learned anything one night in the Leaky Tap, surrounded by his future family and caught tight in the web of Jester’s magic.

_“Are you a good person?”_

_“…I’d like to think so.”_

And she didn’t chase him down, she didn’t stab him in the back. After a second longer, he heard her turn and start walking away instead, going to rejoin her own people as he was going to rejoin his.

“And I hope the same for you,” he heard her say, her voice carried to him on the stiflingly hot breeze. “Farewell, Mollymauk.”

The words felt like chains being loosed from his body that he’d carried all his life.

They felt like freedom.

Mollymauk Tealeaf grinned, and then he broke into a run, racing for his friends where they were waiting in the cart and waving at him to hurry up. Those members of the Crownsguard who weren’t busy holding back the crowds were giving them suspicious looks but to hell with it, to hell with them, they didn’t matter. Only the Mighty Nein mattered, and they had a wizard to catch.

*  *  *

Caleb came back to himself at the sense of the spell failing and the feeling of him starting to fall.

This time he acted consciously, but still largely on instinct. His hand flashed into his component pouch and came out holding a feather, which he tossed into the air and murmured a few words. The spell caught him just in time, so that rather than plummeting three stories he simply drifted down until his feet touched lightly in the grass, there beneath the trees and the predawn sky.

He had only a moment to feel proud of himself, though. Then he remembered why he was here, why he’d run, why he’d gone away inside his head for a time. He remembered just what the limp, slight weight in his arms _meant_.

“Ah,” Caleb whispered, his throat suddenly very tight, his vision suddenly very blurry.

But his hands were steady as he knelt down and lowered her onto the grass. Moving mechanically, he closed her eyes, then shrugged out of his cloak, meaning to use it as a shroud.

Something about it made him pause, however – made him sit and stare at it for a while, before his gaze shifted to the rest of his clothes, the fine robes he wore in their dark, military colors. Clothes Trent had chosen for him, for them, for the _roles_ Trent had chosen for them, the _people_ Trent had wanted them to be.

He missed his scarf, worn soft with use and wear. He missed his coat with all its pockets that only he knew about.

He missed his oldest friends, denied their second chance, denied their promise to share a dance.

He missed Frumpkin and his purring and the way he was supposed to be the _one thing_ that Caleb could _always, always_ hold on to.

He lifted his gaze and saw her there, laying so still. His little friend, his dearest friend, who had saved him and supported him and been one of the first to truly _see him_. She had learned from him and smiled, he had learned from him and lived, they had always made _such_ a fine team. The shell of her was right there but the heart and soul of her were _so_ far away where he knew he could never follow.

Caleb whimpered in a voice he barely recognized as his own, then his voice broke on a pathetic hiccup and then the sound that left him next was the wounded, wailing keen of a dying animal. He pulled her to him, cradled her and clung to her and finally dissolved entirely into tears as the full weight of it all came crashing down on him.

She was so far away and he missed her already.

And she might be gone forever. The thought was a crushing weight on his back, making it almost impossible to breathe. Even when Jester and the others found them, it might not be enough. No matter how hard he and his friends pleaded, no matter how high they raised their voices, it might not be enough. Even if they prayed to every god in all their realms, it might not be enough.

Something in that thought made something _click_ into place in Caleb’s fractured, overwhelmed, overtired thoughts. That one piece falling into place, completing a plan he had only dared contemplate when half-asleep, honestly barely more than a theory, _really_ – it made a cold core of calm settle in his chest, enough to let him swallow back some tears, enough to _function_  for just a little longer.

This time, his fingers were fumbling and clumsy as he went for the pouch on his belt. His breath still came in short, broken wheezes that seemed to echo as loud as a wolf’s growling in that secluded part of the forest. But then Caleb’s fingers closed around it, and he let out a shallow, shuddering sigh of relief.

The transmuter’s stone was still there, right where Trent had told him to keep it. Even now, as he held it in his shaking hand, he could feel the power thrumming through it .

For months, he’d casually kept this stone on his person, kept it close. He’d first enchanted it so that it could absorb constant traces of his own magic through sheer proximity, like a slow, perpetual buildup of static electricity. It was power enough to transmute _him_ with nothing more than sheer proximity, letting him quicken his steps or see in the dark or harden his skin against flames. A _fragment_ of that power could change him in real, tangible ways.

What would happen if he made use of all of that power, _months_ ’ worth of power, all at once?

What could he do?

His gaze fell to the corpse. His heart stuttered a beat from the slow, terrible weight of hope.

After all, what would this _really_ be but a transmutation of a corpse back into a friend?

It sounded almost simple when he thought of it like that.

Caleb laid her gently back down on the ground. Then he wrapped her carefully up in his discarded cloak, meaning to give her some dignity just in case…well, just in case.

Then he knelt beside her, cradling the transmuter’s stone in both hands, and _focused_. He called upon all the power he had within him and all the power he had within it, meaning to meld them together in one powerful burst. It could work. It should work. It _had_ to work.

He felt his own power rise within him like flames coursing through his veins, making the scars on his arms hum and his teeth ache. A few coils of power rose off the stone but it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. Then again, it was a stone, and stones were unused to giving up their secrets. That was why he’d chosen a lucky rock to hold this power for him in the first place, because it would last and endure…

Caleb gritted his teeth and sharpened his thoughts. That had been then and this was _now_. The fact remained that this was a _tool_ , a tool of his creation, and _it would do as he willed it_. 

His fingers tightened, and Caleb flinched as a _crack_ echoed among the trees. Lines spidered up and along the stone from his fingertips as they started to dig _into_ it. Light poured out of the cracks, blue curls of magic swirled free, and Caleb breathed them in, already feeling faintly dizzy with power.

So close, so close, but still not quite enough. “Please,” he whispered. _“Please_.” He knew even as he said the words that he wasn’t praying to any gods. Gods had never saved him and they would not do so now. He was praying to himself instead, praying that just this once he would be strong enough.

At that thought, his hands clenched tight, and the stone _shattered_. Power poured forth from it and gathered in his hands, more power than he had ever known before in his life, so much that he was nearly blind with it, nearly drowned beneath it.

But he didn’t. He kept his focus by keeping his gaze fixed on her. Then he poured all that power into the body of Nott the Brave and willed her to live again. For a moment, she hovered limply a foot off the ground, glowing faintly blue so that he could see the shape of her in her shroud, crackling with energy and twitching as his magic lit up every nerve and inch of her, fixing damage, healing wounds, calling out for her soul to return and making it so that her body would once again be in a fit state to house it.

It broke all the rules he’d learned about raising the dead – or, then again, maybe it didn’t. He called for her alone, but with a conviction as great as any three people. His hands were empty but coursed with all the power at his disposal, called up and offered up to her. His tongue was like lead in his throat, his mind was devoid or word or thought, but the act of him kneeling here beside her and bending nature and reality to his will said more than enough.

Then all at once, the power faded and the magic winked out, utterly spent. She fell limply back to the ground, and Caleb slumped with exhaustion, panting, shaking, sweating and dizzy.

He waited for a moment that stretched on and on into eternity.

And then she breathed again.

She didn’t just breathe, she moved – only to immediately find herself confined by the cloak. “What the--?!” he heard her cry out, voice muffled, before she immediately started to kick and flail. “Gah, lemme out! Who did this? I’ll fucking--”

Laughing and sobbing in equal measure, Caleb reached out to help her get free. Her snarling rage dissipated immediately at the sight of him, her eyes going wide. “Oh!” She looked him over once, twice, taking in details, taking in the sight of him _human_ and _alive_. And then she beamed, so broad and bright. “It worked!” Laughing, she pounced on him to hug him fiercely, burying her face in his chest. “Caleb, it _worked!_ ”

He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight in turn. “All thanks to you, Nott. Thank you. _Thank you_.”

For a long moment, they simply sat there, holding each other as birds came awake around them and the sky grew light. It was an easy, peaceful silence. Nott was the first to break it.

“Caleb?”

“Mm?”

“Everything still hurts a _lot_. Could you put me down, please?”

With a startled yelp, he hastened to do so, helping her settle carefully back down on the grass. He flapped his hands helplessly for a moment, torn between fussing with her lingering injuries and trying hard to keep in mind how that usually went for them both. Finally, he managed to make himself grab up the cloak again so he could help her wrap herself up properly. It and all the clothes he was wearing at the moment were quite flame resistant – perhaps that would help shield her burns.

“That’s right,” she said, smiling at him. “We don’t ‘pat pat’ the wounds, do we?”

Grinning in embarrassment, he shook his head. “Ah, no. _Nein_. But this, ah, this should help, until we can get you to Jester.”

“It’s already helping,” she said encouragingly, before looking around the woods. Her cheery expression for a moment. “Where are the others?”

Caleb ducked his head to stare at his lap, wondering where to start, wondering how much he should or even could tell her. Seeing his hesitations even if she couldn’t have begun to understand the full reasons why, Nott reached out to squeeze his shoulder.

“It’s a long story,” was what he said at last, with a helplessly awkward shrug. “I’ll, ah, I’ll try to tell it to you on the way. We’ll meet them at the road, how does that sound? They’re fine, all of them are fine. Things just got a little…strange, there at the end.”

“Okay,” Nott said quietly, and he wondered if she guessed at something of the truth just from how evasive he was being. But she didn’t press the point, she didn’t question him before he was ready to speak. She’d always been so very good about that. She just gave him a quick kiss on his nose.

Then he helped her clamber up first onto his back and then onto his shoulders, where she could support herself easily enough and all he really had to do was hold onto her ankles. Her weight was perhaps the most inexpressibly comforting thing Caleb had ever known.

“Hup,” he said, straightening up carefully. “You all right up there?”

“Fine and dandy! Do you know which way the road is from here?”

“Always.” Or at least, he knew which way was north, and it was possible to figure out a great many other things from there.

And so he started walking, using what he now remembered from his flight and the compass in his head to chart their way back to the road. For a while, the two of them were quiet, but that was nothing new. Back at the very start, sometimes they had gone entire days without speaking a word. The silence between them was worn as old and soft as a favored coat.

 Once again, Nott was the first to break the silence as the trees started to thin around them. This time, she broke it with a soft gasp. “Caleb,” she whispered. “The sun is rising.”

He saw that she was right – of course, it had been getting lighter and lighter as they walked, but now that the trees were thinning out, now that the road was in sight, he could see the dawn itself in all its riot of colors blooming over a ridge on the other side of the road. Soon, the sun would rise, and he would be here to see it.

The thought made him swallow, his throat tight all over again with emotion. “So it is,” he whispered. He tilted his head just enough to glance back at her. “What do you say we, we wait here for the others, and I’ll…try to catch you up?”

“I think that sounds nice,” Nott said, patting him on the head.

So together they sat down in the grass on the side of the road. Together, they each cast an illusion on themselves to make them look nondescript and easily overlooked. Then Nott tucked herself against his side, and Caleb told her what had happened in fits and starts, as together they watched the sun rise.

*  *  *

Jester hadn’t even been sure if she had enough energy left to cast a Sending spell, but she tried it anyway, huddled in the back of the cart as it sped on in the direction Caleb had gone. “Caleb, are you okay? Is Nott okay? We’re coming to get you as fast as we can but we don’t know where you are.”

She waited with bated breath for an answer, and all around her she could sense the others waiting as well. But finally, finally, she heard Caleb’s voice as if he were right beside her.

_“Jester. Sorry we worried you. Nott is hurt but not too badly. We are waiting for you on the road heading north out of Rexxentraum.”_

Twenty-five words exactly, then nothing more. But that was fine. That was all she needed.

Beaming, heart soaring, she called back to the others. “They’re okay, and they’re waiting for us by the road! Full speed ahead!”

Fjord obligingly cracked the reigns and set the horses to a canter. The sooner they left Rexxentraum was probably the better anyway. The chaos of the fire and all the fleeing servants had kept the Crownsguard too busy to waylay them, but that wouldn’t have lasted, and their faces had definitely been seen.

In fact, Jester thought to herself that the authorities probably wouldn’t just spread their faces around Rexxentraum. They’d attacked a member of the Cerberus Assembly, murdered him and burned his house to the ground. On top of that, they’d infiltrated a fancy party put on by King Bertrand himself, got close enough to swing a knife while sitting at his high table. Of course most of them had been in disguise for that, but Molly hadn’t. It wouldn’t be hard for other mages in charge to realize that the two incidents had _probably_ been related.

They’d probably be known as wanted criminals all across the Empire, after this.

 _Fine_ , Jester thought grimly, as the cart sped on towards the city gates. It was more than worth it, and she would have done it all again. It had been too long since they’d visited her mother in Nicodranus, anyway – after Caleb had a rest, he could bring them right there. Then he could take them to Xhorhas, and they’d…figure things out from there. They’d go anywhere, do anything, do whatever they wanted. All that mattered was staying together.

A couple of Crownsguard tried to stop them at the gates, clearly already somewhat aware of the chaos. But Molly and Jester each turned on the charm enough for the captain to declare them permitted to depart, and after that Fjord didn’t slow down the horses until they were well away and out of sight.

The sun had risen by then, turning the world from grey to gold and lighting the way ahead. As Fjord drove, Molly and Jester took one side of the cart, Yasha and Beau took the other, and they each kept their eyes peeled for their wayward friends.

It was Beau who found them first. Jester heard the laughter in her voice as she called out. “Hey, old man! We’re looking for a hobo and a goblin. You seen ‘em anywhere around here?”

Jester and Molly hastened over to their side of the cart and, sure enough, a weathered old man was sitting beside the road with a large dog tucked against his side, watching the cart approach

Then the dog opened its jaws and called out “Fuck you, Beau!” in Nott’s voice. Then the illusions dropped to reveal Caleb and Nott sitting there waiting for them, just as he’d promised. 

Fjord pulled the cart off to the side of the road, but he needn’t have bothered – the rest of the Nein were already jumping out to hasten over to Caleb and Nott with joyous cries. Some of that joy turned to concern at the sight of Nott. Jester bent to examine her wounds and, though she didn’t have enough healing left to ease all the burns, she could take down the swelling in Nott’s leg and heal a few other cuts and bruises. “I’ll fix you up good as new tomorrow,” she said, kissing her friends’ cheek.

“I suppose I’ll muddle on until then,” Nott said with a theatrical sigh, biting back a smile.

Beau and Yasha both bent at the same time to pick her up and carry her towards the cart. They nearly knocked their heads together before they caught themselves. Then they exchanged glances, exchanged smiles, and Beau made a show of bowing. “Ladies first.”

With the same care she normally showed towards picking flowers, Yasha gathered Nott up as if she weighed nothing at all and carried her back to the cart, settling her down and piling everyone else’s packs and cloaks around her to help keep her comfortable. Jester and Beau both watched them fondly, before a startled yelp from Caleb drew her attention back to him sharply.

But what she saw made the brief flash of anxiety evaporate like morning mist, and for good measure made she and Beau both burst out laughing. Because what she saw was that Molly had waited very patiently for Caleb to see Nott tended to and settled, and after that he’d sat himself down on the grass beside his boyfriend and then pounced to kiss him so enthusiastically that they both went down in the grass in a tangle of limbs.

As she watched, they rolled over once so that Molly wound up on his back, Caleb straddling him, still kissing like drowning men clutching at a lifeline. They cradled each other’s faces and furrowed fingers in each other’s hair and Caleb curled his fingers around Molly’s horn in a way that made Jester’s heart flutter just to see. It was just like a cover on the very best romance book ever written and she was so, so happy that for her two friends it was real life.

Eventually, they parted, breathless, staring at each other with eyes made hazy by desire and devotion and love.

Beau chose that moment precisely to lean over to her and speak, because she was _Beau_ and that was why Jester loved her very much, too.

“I think we’re gonna have to give these two a _lot_ of privacy tonight,” she said in the loudest stage whisper possible.

Caleb and Molly glanced over at the rest of the Nein as if they’d genuinely forgotten the others were there. Caleb blushed and ducked his head. Molly grinned, flipped Beau off, and kissed Caleb’s cheek. “Let’s go, dearest,” he said. “Miles to go before we sleep. And all the time in the world ahead.”

Caleb stood and offered Molly a hand up. Molly took it, slung his arm around Caleb’s shoulders, and together they walked back to the cart, to their friends, to the future and the open road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Master Transmuter: Starting at 14th level, you can use your action to consume the reserve of transmutation magic stored within your transmuter's stone in a single burst. When you do so, choose one of the following effects. Your transmuter's stone is destroyed and can't be remade until you finish a long rest.
> 
> \--Restore Life: You cast the 'raise dead' spell on a creature you touch with the transmuter's stone, without expending a spell slot or needing to have the spell in your spellbook."
> 
> I assumed this also meant you didn't need material components.


	19. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mighty Nein enjoy a while of much-deserved rest, safe within the walls of their magic mansion. Caleb gets Nott settled, finishes reuniting the group, then asks Jester a favor. Later, he and Molly decide they're done denying themselves, and decide to try again.
> 
> When the morning comes, Jester fulfills a promise and sends a message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NOT SAFE FOR WORK. This chapter has smut. It is probably the most in-depth and fluffy sex scene I have ever written. Very new territory for me, but I hope you all enjoy it.
> 
> For those of you who'd prefer to skip the smut, once things start to get hot and heavy, just ctrl+f "Jester woke late" and that will take you past it to the last scene of the chapter.
> 
> Also, just to be safe - BIG AUTHOR'S NOTE WANRING: This chapter also contains scattered and oblique references to past sexual assault, but nothing worse than the rest of the fic has contained.

They rode until the sun was starting to set, until they found a small trading outpost with a couple of rooms to rent and people willing to pay some coin to take both the cart and the horses off their hands. The Mighty Nein retired to one of the rooms to sort out the packs and saddlebags, redistributing necessities amongst themselves according to who could carry what and consigning the rest to the bag of holding.

As all of that was wrapping up, Caleb distracted them all with a soft gasp of delight. As one, they looked over to see him proudly holding up two retrievals from his component pouch – a small marble carving in the shape of a doorway, and a small silver spoon.

This time, Jester beat Molly to the punch in kissing him, before Nott urged both tieflings to leave him alone so Caleb could actually bring the mansion forth. In what felt like no time at all, the familiar doorway shimmered into view in the center of the room. Caleb opened it and then stepped aside, bowing with a flourish to welcome them all back home. Once they’d all filed inside and he’d closed the door behind him, making it invisible and undetectable to the outside world, they all let out a breath they’d been holding ever since beginning their ride away from Rexxentraum. Now, at last, they weren’t just together, they were safe.

For his part, Caleb was surprised at how little coaxing it took to get everyone settled safely in their own rooms, though he doubted anyone would be staying there long. He didn’t often make use of the invisible servants that came with the mansion, but tonight he thought he would, for the sake of getting a very late supper prepared that no one else would have to trouble themselves with. Yasha and Molly usually enjoyed cooking, but he could tell that even they were in no fit state tonight.

Together, they’d all conspired to make sure that Nott didn’t need to take a step under her own power until morning, and Caleb had once again taken charge of her as he oversaw everyone else getting settled. “Caleb, I can get into my own room just fine,” she insisted gently, as he opened the door for them both.

“Of course you can,” he said, steering them towards the room’s other door that opened onto the washroom. “I just, ah, I made a couple of changes, just for tonight, and I wanted to run them by you.”

Nott’s washroom usually took the form of a small pool of water that constantly emptied and refilled itself via a complicated magical waterfall, a deep pail to draw from it, and enough accoutrements for her to give herself a sponge bath if the mood took her. For tonight, however, he’d added a small, shallow pool just off the waterfall, barely a few inches deep. “Soaking burns in water can help,” he heard himself babbling as he set her down beside it. “As, as long as it isn’t too hot or too cold. You should be able to submerge most of yourself in this and when you are done, just use this.” He picked up a pot he’d added near the stool and opened it for her to see the simple white balm inside, smelling of mild herbs. “I don’t know what sort of effect it will have once we leave, but it should give you some relief tonight, at least. Enough to help you sleep.” 

Nott regarded the water thoughtfully, then slowly eased herself into it and settled on her back, still in her burned and tattered layers. The water covered most of her spindly limbs and almost came up over her chest, but left her face clear. Still, he could see the doubt lingering on her face, old fears and pain, so Caleb hastened to add: “And, and if you fall asleep and turn over the wrong way, here!”

He laid himself down in the water with her, still in his stupid robes, then took a deep breath and rolled over so his face was submerged. Immediately, he felt an insistent tugging on the back of his shirt, three pairs of phantom hands trying to pull him up and roll him over. It was an effort for them to move him, a human man – invisible servants were not meant to be strong creatures. But for a goblin, their combined efforts would be plenty, and as he lifted his head from the water and wiped his sopping bangs from his eyes, he saw that Nott could tell as much, too. The last lingering vestiges of fear faded from her face, and then she was only smiling at him, soft and touched.

“Thank you, Caleb” she whispered, and scooted close enough to give him a kiss on the cheek. “This was very thoughtful of you.”

He smiled in relief and patted her hand, inwardly exultant at having managed to do something good for her. Of course, he’d brought her back to life, but that hardly counted. She had done the same for him, after all. “I’m glad you like it. And I hope it helps.”

“I’m sure it will. Or at least, a nice soak before dinner couldn’t hurt.” Nott glanced around as if she could see the invisible servants waiting, then hummed thoughtfully. “Especially if one of these ghosties could maybe bring me a nice big bottle of wine and maybe a smutty book. Oh, and some grapes.”

“Wine is just—”

“You can’t _just_ get fed wine while you laze around in a bath, Caleb. It’s not the same.”

“Ah, _ja_. Of course.”

“You should maybe look into that for yourself, too. I mean, we both literally _died_ this month. I think we’re due a night of lazing around like fancy people.”

He reached out to tousle her hair, which was a little hard when it was already plastered flat to her head. “We will never be fancy people, Nott.”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She finished the job brushing his sodden bangs back from his forehead. “But sometimes you’ve got to pretend to be something else so you can appreciate what you are. That’s just part of living a rich, full life.”

“Well, we have had plenty of that.” Smiling happily, aching with love for her, Caleb got up from the bath and issued a few short instructions to one of the waiting servants to fetch Nott her wine and her grapes and her book. “Rest well, _schwester_. I will see you when supper is ready.”

“Sure will!” Nott said with feeling, kicking back in the water with a languid stretch. “Oh, and Caleb…”

“Mm?” he asked, drying his hair with a towel one of the other servants had brought.

“Molly died just recently, too.” She must have seen the look on his face at the recollection her words brought, because Nott hastened on to add. “I’m just saying, two recently-dead guys who haven’t seen each other for a while, in a bath, with some drinks and reading material…it could be good for you.”

She winked in a way that could only be described as bawdy, in a way that reminded him fiercely that his little friend was a mother with a husband and child of her own. Caleb blushed fiercely and ducked his head, Nott cackled in amusement, and then shooed him out of the room. As he stepped back out into the hall, he had to step aside for a floating tray bearing wine, grapes, and a replica first-edition copy of _Betrayal at the Gates_ to brush past him back the way he’d come.

Shaking his head fondly, Caleb turned away, meaning to head to the kitchens, only to see Molly waiting for him, leaning against the door to his own room. The tiefling brightened visibly to see Caleb and immediately started heading towards him; Caleb immediately started moving to meet him halfway. Nott’s words were bubbling in the back of his mind, coupled with the heavy knowledge that this was the first time he and Molly had been alone all day, since well before the fight at the mansion.

 _“Hallo_ ,” he said, moving to draw Molly close to him, only realizing then that his boyfriend was bearing something precarious in his arms.

 _“Hallo_ ,” Molly said back, beaming proudly when he saw Caleb had noticed. He pressed the bundle into Caleb’s arms and immediately, Caleb’s wits caught up with him. The scents hit his nose, and – almost of their own volition – his fingers traced the cones of incense and the packets of herbs.

“Jester found these while we were sorting out the supplies. Gave them to me to give to you,” he heard Molly saying, as if from very far away. He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder. “After all, we aren’t _truly_ all together again, are we?”

His eyes were suddenly stinging and his throat was suddenly very tight. Caleb shook his head fiercely because no, no they absolutely were not, and he was torn between feeling like a bastard for ever forgetting and wanting to sob with relief that he could finally, finally put this sin to mending.

But first, he gently, reverentially set the incense and herbs down on the floor, all for the sake of being able to throw his arms around Molly in gratitude. Molly was so taken aback for some reason that he stumbled back a pace, the breath leaving him all in a rush. But then he was laughing, hugging Caleb in turn, and yet again it struck Caleb like a shove to the chest that everything was okay.

He might have been content to stay like that and cling to the moment forever. So it was perhaps just as well that it was Molly who stepped away first, though he did so with an apologetic kiss to Caleb’s forehead. “All right, go and do your magic,” he said. “Don’t forget to tell the little furball I’ve missed him.”

Smiling through overwhelmed, overjoyed tears, Caleb only nodded, gathered up his spell components, and turned away. Words were impossible in that moment, but thankfully Molly understood. He always had. As Caleb made a quick beeline for his room, he heard Molly walking away, heading towards the stairs, humming happily to himself.

But once Caleb closed the door to his own room there was only quiet, except for the breath he let out in a long, shaky sigh. He lifted his head to survey the room for a moment – it had taken Nott stealing a peek inside his first attempt at it and then everyone else getting deeply offended on his behalf before he’d thought to put any effort into it, but now in every respect it was the warmest, most comfortable study he could imagine. The theme was broken only by the bed with four-posted hangings tucked safely into one corner. The center of the room was a large square of gleaming, polished marble, a perfect surface for chalking arcane circles and symbols.

He retrieved a brazier, arranged the incense and herbs as he knew he would need them, and was just reaching into his component pouch for chalk when something made him pause. He looked again at the pouch, at the belt it was hanging on, at the outfit it was a part of. All so stark and military, nothing of it belonging to him, everything a marker of who Trent Ikithon had always wanted him to be.

He suddenly could not stand to have the clothes against his skin for another instant. At least for tonight, he didn’t have to.

So he left the spell for just a little longer and set instead to stripping himself, out of the heavy clothes In black and red that covered him from neck to ankle, which had been meant to hide him from anyone who would care to find and save him. The sound of cloth carelessly hitting the floor was deeply satisfying. The ease with which the acid ate away at the threads after little more than a whispered word and flick of his fingers was even moreso.

Then Caleb turned away and went to his closet. He pulled out a shirt and trousers in white and charcoal grey respectively, both worn soft in the way he always preferred. He pulled on long, heavy purple socks and didn’t bother to hunt for boots – after all, this was his house. Finally, he wrapped a soft blue scarf around his neck and shrugged into a tattered brown coat with thirty-two pockets – a replica of his old one, but a perfect replica at that, so it would do for tonight.

 _“There we go,”_ he whispered to himself in Zemnian, regarding himself the best he could without a mirror in the room. _“Much better. You look like yourself, you feel like yourself, you are yourself. Now you can get your cat back. Imagine what you might have brought trotting in here if you’d tried to do the ritual otherwise.”_ Shaking his head at the very idea, he went to back to his supplies, knelt down, and finished his preparations.

The hourlong casting seemed to fly past in a blur – later on, he would look back and even his perfect memory would barely be able to recall details, having utterly skipped past it in favor of what came next. After what might as well have been the blink of an eye, Caleb felt the familiar sense of space and time distorting, and he opened his eyes to see a familiar tabby stepping primly through the hole in reality and back into his world.

Frumpkin blinked slowly at him, then came over to hop up into his lap and nuzzle his face. After that, there was nothing for Caleb to do but cling to him and kiss his fur and cry in heartrending relief so all-encompassing that he curled up right there on the floor to do it. Frumpkin tolerated the emotional display and mild manhandling with benign, feline, fae good grace. He never stopped purring all the while.

Later, with Frumpkin laying scarfed around his shoulders, Caleb went downstairs in search of Molly. He found his boyfriend in the low-ceilinged kitchen, found him growing increasingly flustered as he tried to instruct the invisible servants on how to prepare supper for the night. Technically, they listened to anyone in the Mighty Nein who instructed them, but fact that they were invisible seemed to throw all his friends for a bit of a loop in terms of how, when, and what to say.

He startled just a little when he Caleb wrapped his arms around his waist, when Frumpkin licked his cheek, but only a little. Frumpkin obligingly hopped down to avoid Molly’s horns as the tiefling tucked himself comfortably against Caleb’s chest, content to let Caleb take over giving orders.

Once things seemed to be running smoothly again, they retired to a bench, arranging it so that Molly could continue resting against Caleb, Frumpkin could make himself comfortable draped over both their legs, and Caleb could lose himself for a while in the feeling of how well they all fit together. Every little detail felt sharp and familiar, from the way the low light played on the chipped polish of Molly’s nails to the slightly rough sensation where Molly’s horns brushed his neck to the feel of Molly’s scarred chest rising and falling under his hands.

Eventually, savory smells started to fill the kitchen, and from there started to suffuse the rest of the mansion. After a while, Caleb bid one of the servants to put down a small bowl of beef drippings for Frumpkin, which the cat dug into with a will. The first he knew of the others slowly trickling into the kitchen was Jester’s delighted gasp at the sight of the cat, followed by her overjoyed squeal when Caleb silently ordered Frumpkin to do a blep for her. When Fjord arrived not long after, the cat retreated to the kitchen hearth, out of the way of the table and plates being slowly assembled on the table for them all. As the table started to groan beneath the weight of their late night feast, Molly went to rouse Yasha and Beau as well as to see if Nott needed any help getting downstairs.

And so, bit by bit and one by one, the Mighty Nein gathered all together and sat down for dinner. After that, for just a while, everything wasn’t just okay, everything was _normal_.

Everything was so normal, in fact, that Caleb almost forgot what he’d meant to ask Jester as soon as they had a moment to themselves, ever since what Nott had told him by the side of the road. The day so far had afforded no such opportunities. Hours later, as he watched everyone slowly starting to disperse from the table and before the question could eat away at him any further, he decided he would have to make an opportunity for himself.

Molly looked a little bemused when Caleb pulled away to go and chase after Jester, but didn’t press the point, especially when Caleb pressed a kiss to his cheek and then lingered close enough to murmur: “I will find you later.”

“You know where to find me,” Molly murmured back, squeezing his hand, before he turned away and hastened over to exchange a few last words with Yasha instead.

Caleb sent Frumpkin on ahead to announce himself – the cat darted forward to twine himself around Jester’s ankles, meowing noisily and bringing her to a quick halt. “Oh, hello kitty!” she chirped, immediately picking him up in her arms and scratching his chin. “Did you come to say good night to me? I missed you very much!” She clearly heard the sound of Caleb’s approaching footsteps, though she didn’t look back at him right away. “But not as much as he did, I bet,” she added to Frumpkin instead, in a conspiratorial mock-whisper.

“Can I talk to you?” Caleb asked, fighting to keep from twist his fingers in front of him. “Ah, alone?”

“Of course you can, Caleb.” Something of how serious he was feeling must have shown on his face, because she didn’t even make a joke, or maybe she was simply too full and sleepy from the meal. If so, Caleb could sympathize. Either way, she led him up the stairs and to her room, then opened the door for him to step inside and did not resist when he took Frumpkin from her arms and resettled the cat across his shoulders instead. She simply sat down on her frilly, overstuffed bed and patted the mattress beside her in a silent invitation that he was happy to take.

For a long, long moment, Caleb could only stare at his hands as he twisted them anxiously in his lap, could only focus on the sound of his cat and the sound of Jester’s tail swishing gently back and forth on the silken pink sheets. Then he saw her hand slowly reach over to cover his, warm and sure, and that gave him the last bit of courage he needed to take the plunge.

“I need you to send a message for me,” he said.

He heard her make an apologetic noise. “Caleb, I _really_ don’t have any more—”

“I know, I know,” he said, wincing as he cut her off. “Just, ah, when you can. As soon as you can. Tomorrow morning? I would have asked then, only--” He worried at his lower lip. “I knew I would lose my nerve if I waited that long.”

“Okay,” she said, very quietly. “Who do you want me to message? Is it someone I know? I need to know at least a little about what they look like, remember.”

The question was so innocently ridiculous that he dissolved into a fit of helpless giggles, and his reaction was apparently so startling that Jester was reduced to rubbing his back and making fussing noises until the momentary fit passed and Caleb could get his breath back. “ _Ja_ ,” he finally stammered, swallowing down a fragile smile. “Um, yes. You know them rather well, I would say.”

“Okay. Who are they?”

He could not answer her as simply as that, much as a part of him ached to put this entire matter to rest as quickly as possible, much as a not-insignificant part of him yearned to simply stop this entirely before he got in too deep.

But he was here in his house, safe and surrounded by his friends and his love and his cat. Trent was dead and Rexxentraum was far away, getting further by the day. If he could not be brave now, then when?

He covered her hand with his and heard himself speak, though in little more than a whisper. “Nott told me something, while we were waiting for you,” he said. “She told me that she, ah, that when she made her Wish. That she did not just wish…for me.”

Bless her, but Jester caught on very quickly. He heard her suck in a short, shallow breath, and that was enough to tell him that she understood, enough to drive him to carry on. “She tried to wish them alive and human again, too. But, ah, but if it worked, they probably came back right there on the street when they died, and of course we wouldn’t have seen them, moving as hastily as we did. But that means she doesn’t even know if it really worked, it might not have worked, and…” He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed down a renewed threat of tears. “And I _need_ to know, Jester. Please. One way or another, I need to know, and you are the only one who can tell me.”

The seconds stretched on, and he counted every agonizing one of them, until at last Jester leaned in close to kiss his cheek, smoothed her hands up and down his arms.

“So what do you want me to say?” she asked.

He let out his breath in a long, shuddering sigh of relief. The loss of tension left him shaking, so much so that he had to lean forward and bury his face in his hands. Frumpkin got down off his shoulders and pressed up against his back instead. Jester kept her hands on his arms. Twin pressures from two friends, safe and grounding.

“Tell them,” he tried, and then his voice broke. He closed his mouth, swallowed, tried again. “Tell them I will help them if they need it. Tell them I will destroy them if they hurt you. How you want to say that…that is up to you. I trust you.”

“I can do that!” Jester answered, immediate and bright. “And probably only make it sound a _little_ bit scary. Even if it takes me two spells. Or three! So you can count on me, Caleb.”

He lifted his head to smile at her, then he gave up, went for broke, and pulled her into a hug. The hug she offered him in turn made his ribs creak in a truly gratifying fashion.

Then he wished her a heartfelt good night, left her to get ready for bed, and went to go find Molly.

Thankfully, Molly was already in his own room for the night, and he’d left the door unlocked. Caleb paused when he felt the knob turn in his hand, then looked down at his cat. With a murmured apology, he dismissed Frumpkin with a click of his fingers, then took a second to be certain he still felt the comforting tug at the back of his mind that told him Frumpkin was waiting to be called back. Only then did he open the door and step inside.

Molly’s room was airy and cozy, lit with scattered pools of red-tinted radiance coming from a few heavily-shaded lanterns. Sheer draperies of fabric along the ceiling and walls played interesting shadows and colors across the eyes. There were no proper chairs, only cushions piled around a low table set with a tea assortment, a large circular bed fitted with gauzy hangings, and an ostentatiously luxurious chaise longue set before a full-length mirror. The air already smelled of light, flowery incense.

The room itself was lovely. Yet the sight that of the room’s owner was so soft and beautiful, so indescribably perfect and impossibly, somehow _his_ that it stopped Caleb dead and sucked the breath from his lungs in a rush of tenderness.

Molly himself was sprawled languidly on the chaise, using the mirror to help him guide a brush through his hair and around his horns. His jewelry was arranged in neat rows on a low end table nearby, leaving only a few scattered piercings in his ears and tail. He’d scrubbed his face of soot and dust and even makeup. He’d stripped out of his clothes and dressed instead in a simple pair of billowing harem pants in deep blue, embroidered with golden stars. All told, he looked strangely vulnerable, stripped of all his glittering finery and left only with his scars and the indelible lines of ink he’d drawn beneath his skin to cover up the nine red eyes.

And yet despite having divested himself he looked completely at ease and transcendently beautiful for it. That a being so lovely and sure could ever love Caleb back just about made him dizzy from the impossible joy all over again, and just as he finished swallowing down too many emotions to name, Molly caught sight of him in the mirror. Caleb saw his love’s face light up, saw him set down the hairbrush and half-roll over to look at Caleb properly and smile. “Well, hello. That didn’t take long.”

He couldn’t _stand_ it any longer. He couldn’t hold himself back, not when Molly looked like _that_. So Caleb closed the door behind him with shaking fingers, crossed the distance between them in what seemed like a blink, then slid onto the chaise beside Molly and pressed in close to seize him in a desperate, needy kiss. Molly made a startled squeak against his mouth, but before Caleb could have time to panic that he’d made the wrong choice, he felt Molly’s fingers winding through his hair and clutching at the back of his coat to keep him close and kiss him dizzy.

“Well, hello,” he whispered again, when they broke apart to breathe. Caleb shuddered as the pad of Molly’s index finger traced idle lines from his cheek down to the hollow of his throat. “This is nice. What’s the occasion?”

Caleb closed his eyes, shuddered, swallowed back a whimpering whine. Even with his eyes shut, he could feel the heat of Molly’s gaze on his face, could imagine the intent look in those bright red eyes. Molly knew. Molly knew what Caleb wanted. But he would wait, he would always wait, until Caleb said it.

That sure and certain knowledge gave Caleb the courage to do just that.

“I need you,” he whispered, and felt his stomach tighten into a few more knots. “ _Please_.”

The last time they’d wanted this, it had been in the heat of _too much –_ too much having come before, too much still to face, too many emotions and not nearly enough time or strength or words to deal with them all. Now the worst was over, it _had_ to be over, and yet Caleb knew that if he let himself he would worry over every little detail like a starving dog with a bone. He needed a way to set it all down, even if only for a while, just to know that he could, and he could think of no other way to do that but this.

The last time they’d wanted this had been when they’d both been terrified that it would be their only chance, that too much had broken or changed. Now, perhaps, it could be in celebration of how far they’d come and how they’d managed to survive together. Surely that would be better. Surely that would mean something.

Molly seemed to think that it did. Caleb heard him let out a shallow, shaky breath, and even in that little gesture he sounded so _affected_ that Caleb’s heart skipped a beat. “Okay,” Molly whispered, his breath ghosting hot over Caleb’s ear, making him shiver. He was so _close_ , and yet suddenly not nearly close enough. “Then I’d like you to go and get on the bed for me, Caleb.”

The words carried just the barest edge of an order and yet somehow made him relax. Molly’s tone offered every chance for refusal, and yet he did not wish to refuse. He could follow orders, let Molly take the lead and guide him, let Molly’s voice keep Caleb’s mind from twisting itself into knots and eating him alive and finding some way to _ruin this_. That last flash of confidence he’d known as a vampire had left him, lingering just long enough to let him ask for this in the first place, and now he was happy to stumble his way blindly through this as long as Molly was there with him.

So Caleb pushed himself up and walked towards the bed, each step feeling significant but not scary, simply heavy with the weight that they were about to go further with each other than they ever had before, and because he loved Molly desperately that _meant something_. He sat down on the edge of the bed and then his heart stuttered to realize that Molly was right behind him, Molly was sliding onto the bed right beside him and pulling him close. “There we go,” his lover whispered, his voice low and heated and lovely. Caleb let out a soft whimper that was soon lost in another tangle of kisses and sighs, lips and tongues.

He lost himself in the kiss, in the easy familiarity spiced with anticipation, let it settle the nerves that had started to grow in the pit of his stomach. They were on the bed together. One step was complete. Perhaps it was foolish to think of this in such terms, but he knew that Molly wouldn’t have thought that way, and it helped Caleb keep his wits about him even if only a little.

It was enough to let him voice one particular desire aloud when they next pulled apart to breathe. “I want you to undress me,” he murmured, and almost immediately cursed himself as he felt a blush light his cheeks, as his gaze fell to Molly’s chest and stayed there. He couldn’t have explained the need had he been given hours, just knew in his bones that it _was_ something he needed.

“All right,” Molly whispered, after only a moment’s pause, and then he reached out to carefully unwind the scarf from around Caleb’s neck. Caleb felt his throat go tight when Molly then carefully folded it and set it down on the floor. A soft whine caught in his throat when Molly next started to slide his coat down his arms, the touch slow and lingering, the warm pressure of his hands so good and grounding. Caleb was barely able to make himself move enough to help finish getting it off - he felt both relaxed to the bone and pinned beneath the weight of some significant realization, so movement was briefly, strangely difficult.

It was as he saw Molly hanging his coat on a bedpost that Caleb fully understood why he’d wanted this so much, why he _craved_ it to a degree he let himself feel so rarely. It was still so hard to make himself vulnerable even by his own choice, to deliberately untangle himself from the layers of cloth and lies he used to shield himself from a world that could so often be too dangerous, too much. He’d wanted to know what it felt like to be made vulnerable without being made a victim. He’d wanted to know if such a thing could truly be possible.

Now he knew that it was, because here was Molly, treating those layers and their removal with significance and care, treating _Caleb_ with a care that did not range into pity or disdain. Here was Molly, who loved all his jagged eccentricities and was making him vulnerable only because he’d been asked to, only so they could be truly close to each other in the face of a world that had tried so hard to keep them apart.

Maxwell and Trent were gone, and the two of them were still here.

“Arms up,” Molly whispered, resting his hands on Caleb’s hips in anticipation. Caleb obeyed, raising his arms over his head. Molly eased his shirt up his body, trailing fingertips along his sides to ghost over his ribs and the warm tenderness of his touch sent sparks radiating all throughout Caleb’s body, making his eyes fall half-closed, making his breath come a little heavier.

“Still okay?” Molly asked after he’d gotten the shirt off, gotten it folded and set aside, too. Caleb nodded frantically in response. The languid relaxation and heavy weight of realization was starting to fade in the face of skin on skin contact. The need for more of it was already winding tighter in the pit of his stomach. Molly chuckled lightly at the look on his face, reached out to cradle his cheek, and Caleb found himself nuzzling shamelessly into the touch.

“You are so beautiful,” his lover murmured, before leaning in to trail kisses all along his jaw, towards his ear, where Caleb gasped to feel the graze of teeth on his earlobe. “I’m going to take such good care of you.”

“I know,” Caleb whispered. The words slipped out of him unbidden, and he was still surprised to realize in the next instant just how true they were. Even Molly seemed somewhat taken aback at his open sincerity; the tiefling pulled away, his eyes meeting Caleb’s for a moment, wide and – in their own way – just as vulnerable as Caleb felt.

Then Molly smiled, his expression softening. He seemed visibly touched by the words, by the trust, and Caleb couldn’t help but smile back. “I love you,” Molly whispered, as if no other words mattered.

They were the three most wonderfully impossible words he’d ever thought he might hear. But, just for now, Caleb could believe them. Later he would remember all the reasons he should doubt, all the reasons this could not last. But in that moment, to deny the truth of those words was impossible. He could only bask in them, leaning in close to dot kisses all over Molly’s face and down his neck. “And I love you,” Caleb whispered. Molly shivered lightly and let out a low, needy whine that seemed born just as much of the words as the kisses.

Things grew slowly more heated from there, now that they were mostly bared to each other, now that they were still in relatively familiar territory. Molly kept things from getting too fast or frantic, always gentling the pace whenever it threatened to spin out of control and get too much like their last attempt. Though it made his skin start to itch with frustration, Caleb never protested the reminder. Molly was right, after all – they should not let this time be tainted with the echoes of old fears.

Besides, there was a sweetness to that frustration all its own, especially when it was spiced with the knowledge that any frustration _would_ eventually be soothed.

Almost as if in answer to that thought, Molly shoved lightly at Caleb’s shoulders, and Caleb took the hint to fall back onto the bed. Molly crawled over to settle on top of him, braced on his elbows, and the next thing Caleb knew was the wet heat of his lover’s mouth closed around his nipple. The feeling tore a sharp gasp from Caleb, made him arch up into the sensation. He felt Molly smirk against his skin, saw his tail lashing in smug satisfaction. It simultaneously made Caleb love him fiercely and made him want to retaliate in kind. Emboldened by the need, by the pleasant ache already lighting his body, he slid his hand along Molly’s chest, down his stomach, and then lower still.

He could tell that Molly knew what was coming a scant second before it happened, but that did nothing to diminish the satisfaction he felt when he cupped Molly’s dick through his pants and even that slight bit of contact was enough to make a pleading moan vibrate in Molly’s throat.

Caleb wasn’t about to deny Molly anything, certainly not after a sound like that. He continued to trace his fingers over Molly’s erection, stroking and squeezing, feeling his lover harden under his touch. Molly continued to lavish attention on Caleb’s nipples. Once they were as stiff as possible, throbbing in time to his heartbeat, he turned his mouth to Caleb’s throat instead, kissing marks into his skin. All of that on its own would have provided enough to get Caleb hard, but the feeling of Molly shifting and writhing against his touch provided a fair bit of stimulation to his own cock as well, considering their current positions.

Finally, the words wouldn’t be held back a second longer. “I need you to fuck me,” Caleb whispered, his voice high and tight, scarcely sounding like his at all.

Molly shuddered bodily, his breath catching in his throat, and Caleb actually felt him twitch against his hand. “Good,” he whispered against the curve of Caleb’s throat. “Because I need to fuck you. But then I’d say we’re still a little too dressed, hm?”

He swallowed, his throat suddenly, painfully dry, and managed a nod. _“Ja.”_

The feeling of Molly pulling away and getting off of him was an almost physical pain, though when Caleb made a protesting, frustrated sound, it was a pain that Molly at least eased with a hard, hungry kiss pressed against his mouth. Then he was gone, moving towards the shelves of makeup by the mirror. Caleb slowly managed to make himself sit up, then stand on shaky legs. His cock was a heavy, insistent ache that throbbed at the slightest brush of fabric, driving him slowly mad second by second, so that when Molly returned Caleb reached out impatiently to take the little bottle of oil from him and set it on the bed, all for the sake of drawing Molly into another kiss and guiding his lover’s hands to the waistband of his pants.

He felt Molly smile against his mouth, swallowed the contented purr that passed between them, and then those quick, clever hands were working first his pants and then his smallclothes down his hips to pool at his feet, leaving Caleb fully bared to the red-tinted room and the incense-touched air and Molly’s rapt attentions.

Those same hands gathered up Caleb’s, brought them to Molly’s own hips, and Molly smiled wryly at him. “Seems only fair,” he said. Caleb grinned weakly, feeling laughter bubbling up in his chest like dancing lights. He could only nod in reply, before sliding Molly’s pants down and off his hips to bare him fully, too.

The laughter finally escaped him as they both fell back onto the bed together in a tangle of limbs and kisses, especially when Molly joined in laughing with him. Molly sounded so happy and Caleb felt so happy, practically giddy, because they were here together and they were finally going to get to share this moment and just for tonight, the past wouldn’t stop him. Just for tonight, everything would be okay.

He was determined to make the most of it.

So when he noticed Molly reaching for the discarded bottle of oil, Caleb caught his hand and brought it to his lips instead. He saw Molly’s eyes go wide, saw him visibly swallow and his tail twitch in anticipation. Caleb could only hope that the feeling of him sliding two of Molly’s fingers into his mouth was as good as they both hoped.

After all, though he knew Molly would be more than generous with the lubrication, a little bit more would hardly hurt.

It certainly seemed to have an effect. Molly gasped shrilly, his face screwing up tight, his other hand fisting in the sheets. “ _Oh_ ,” he breathed, as Caleb started to suck. “Oh, Caleb…” His voice actually wavered audibly. Caleb felt a thrill race up his spine. As Molly forced his eyes half-open, Caleb caught his gaze and held it as he very deliberately swirled his tongue around the fingers in his mouth. He knew the whimper this earned from Molly in reply would keep him warm on so many cold nights to come.

Molly curled his fingers, the pads pressing down firmly on Caleb’s tongue, then he started to pump them in and out of his mouth. Caleb was happy to let him do so, keeping his tongue at work, hungrily drinking in the sight of Molly’s ironclad control slowly coming undone.

It was with visible reluctance and a desperate shudder that Molly finally pulled his fingers free. Caleb was distracted from the pang of disappointment by the sight of Molly’s cock, now fully erect, curving up towards his stomach and flushed a deep royal purple. It would be inside him, soon, filling up all the emptiness within him, driving out all thought from his mind, driving out anything that wasn’t Molly. Just the thought made his toes curl and his breath stutter.

He was drawn out of his distracted state by the feeling of Molly reaching between his legs to trail fingers slicked with sweet-smelling oils up his inner thighs. The cool sensation made Caleb shudder, sucking in a breath between his teeth, but he otherwise held still while the oil warmed against his skin and the brief shock faded into more tight anticipation.

Once it had, he rolled over onto his front, dragging a pillow to his face and spreading his legs in silent invitation. Even so, the sudden motion seemed to startle Molly a little; Caleb felt his fingers pause. “Caleb? You okay?”

He nodded without hesitation, grateful for something to hide his blush against. “Mhm. This part is just, it, it…it can be a lot.” He knew from past experience that being able to block out one source of sensory input could help the others stay enjoyable without becoming unbearably overwhelming. “Staying like this, it helps.”

Besides, having the drag of Molly’s erection against his own while having Molly’s fingers inside him would have absolutely ensured Caleb didn’t last long. And he wanted so very much for this to last. At least this way, he could rut against the sheets to get some relief without pushing himself too far.

And now that he was on his stomach, he was also piercingly aware that while most of his body felt warm and alight from being lavished by Molly’s affection, his back hadn’t known the same attention. The disparity felt wrong and strange, the skin strangely numb and tight. Fortunately, one of the things he loved most about Molly was the way the tiefling seemed to take genuine pleasure in just the act of affectionate touching, no other expectations or conditions involved. It had always been that way before, and so it was now – after just a couple more seconds, Caleb sighed in pleasure at the feeling of Molly dotting slow, warm kisses all along his shoulders. He spread his legs a little further at the feeling of fingers gliding up his inner thigh to circle his hole.

With what must have taken a supreme effort of will, Molly slowly slid a finger into him. The brief pressure before the penetration made Caleb draw in a sharp, shuddering breath, and then the feeling of being filled drew a heartfelt groan from him that was echoed by Molly and barely muffled by the pillow.

He didn’t need to take it slow. Molly’s finger was so slick and Caleb was so aroused that there was very little resistance. But Molly took it slow anyway, because he clearly thought that this was a moment worth drawing out. This was worth savoring.

The full weight of that realization was so beautifully overwhelming that Caleb was once again grateful for a way to subtly hide his face. The last thing he wanted to do was distract Molly with the sight of the tears stinging at his eyes, even if they were tears born of very good things.

They both got impatient and Molly tried to add a second finger too quickly, but he backed off immediately when Caleb winced. “Sorry, sorry,” he whispered, pressing apologetic kisses to Caleb’s neck and the top of his head, rubbing his free hand over Caleb’s lower back in big, soothing circles while he waited to recover from the mild shock.

Perhaps to distract himself, perhaps simply for the sake of finding more ways to enfold Caleb utterly in affection and pleasure, Molly started to press words of praise into his skin alongside the kisses. “My Caleb, my dearest, you’re so bright, so beautiful. I missed you so much and I only love you more. Yeah, that’s right, that’s it, just relax and let me make you feel good…”

This time, the second finger fit easily, and a third not long after. Each one made him shudder, letting out a high, helpless keen and grinding his hips down into the silk sheets, seeking friction, needing _more_. The languid pace Molly kept as he pumped his fingers in and out was deliciously _obscene_ , leaving Caleb suspended in a sort of helplessness that he’d never known could feel so _good_. He was helpless to do anything but feel, utterly devoid of words and so unable to do anything but listen to the words of love being offered to him like water to a dying man. Every inch of his skin felt warm and alight from being kissed and touched. It felt blissfully good in its own right and gave him something else to focus on besides the increasingly insistent throb between his legs, so that the need winding tighter and tighter in the pit of his stomach wouldn’t reach its limit just yet.

“Listen to you. Moonweaver in all her grace and mercy, I’ve never made you sing for me like this before.” Molly licked a trail along Caleb’s spine, then he curled his fingers just so in a way that made Caleb feel as if lighting was skittering up to paint itself across the backs of his eyelids. It made him clutch the pillow in a white-knuckled grip, suddenly unable to get his breath no matter how much he panted raggedly. There was something between a growl and a purr in Molly’s voice as he added: “I look forward to doing so a _lot_ more in future, if you found yourself amenable. I could get used to _ruining_ you like this.”

Caleb lifted his head, half-opening his eyes. It took a second for his vision to clear, but once it did he saw with a thrill that he’d been _drooling_.

He couldn’t stand it any longer. “Please,” Caleb panted, too far gone to remotely care about the fact that he was begging openly. _“Please.”_ He half rolled over to glance back at Molly, and something about how Caleb looked in that moment visibly affected his lover very deeply. Molly’s throat bobbed visibly as he swallowed, and the love in his eyes transformed into something like worship.

“Okay,” he said in a strangled whisper. His hands were shaking as he reached for the oil. Caleb watched hungrily as Molly slicked himself with it, saw him shiver and twitch at even that slight contact. Then he slowly turned onto his front once more as Molly crawled on top of him again, as he pressed against Caleb in one warm, willing line. The last lingering dregs of tension left him, then – how could he be tense when the rest of the world had ceased to exist, everything but for this bed and the man he loved pressed so close that not a breath could pass between them? Every inch of his skin felt as if it were _singing_.

He felt Molly get himself into position, then felt Molly’s hands take hold of his. Caleb swallowed past a renewed tightness in his throat and did not hesitate to lace their fingers together, squeezing tightly.

“I love you,” Molly whispered, pressing a feather-light kiss to his temple.

Caleb brought one of their joined hands to his mouth to kiss. “I love you, too.”

Each exploratory press against his hole made him gasp and then, on the third attempt, Molly slipped so easily inside. Caleb let out a strangled choking sound at the feeling, his grip on the pillow going white-knuckled and his hips bucking upwards almost of their own volition. For a wild moment, it felt as if his mind had shorted out entirely before he realized what _else_ he was feeling.

Molly chuckled breathily at the whimper Caleb made, burying his face against the human’s shoulder. “Not what you were expecting?”

Caleb shook his head, blushing fiercely all over again. _“N-Nein_ ,” he stammered, his voice little more than a squeak. It might have been embarrassing under other circumstances, but he thought he could be forgiven his shock, and it was impossible to truly feel embarrassed about anything when he had the sensation of a ridged cock pushing inside him to focus on. 

After that, Caleb was lost.

Even now, with what must have been a supreme effort of will, Molly kept his pace under control – he filled Caleb slowly, giving him every chance to scramble to try and commit this moment to memory forever. He trembled and gasped at the feeling of being _filled_ , a sensation made all the sweeter because he knew how much it was affecting Molly, too. His lover held nothing back, whimpering oaths and endearments in Common and Infernal together, groaning desperately as he finally hilted himself. He stayed still for a long moment, freeing one hand to card it through Caleb’s sweat-soaked hair, brushing it aside so he could dot open-mouthed kisses against Caleb’s cheek and down his neck and Caleb so very dearly wished that this moment could last forever.

He simply held on tight to the idea that they would both have the chance to make each other feel this way again, and again, as many times as they wanted to take it in the future.

Just before the pressure born of stillness could become too much, Molly started to move. He kept the pace deliberate and slow and so very _deep_ , each thrust pushing a helpless, breathless little cry out of Caleb and making him arch to meet it. It was an easy rhythm to settle into and all too soon it felt as if they were moving as one, the lines between them seeming to blur and dissolve until Caleb fancied he could feel Molly’s heartbeat as an echo of his own.

Next time, perhaps they would take things faster, rougher, drown themselves in a different sort of sensation. Next time, perhaps Caleb would be on his back, maybe he’d even rediscover some of the boldness he’d known as a vampire and take the lead.

All that truly mattered was that there would be a next time, and they would have time to explore and experiment and try every possible way to be together and make each other feel amazing. He clung to the idea as tightly as he clung to the pillow and the sheets and Molly’s hands as Molly fucked him open with more tenderness than Caleb had ever known.

It seemed as if he hung suspended in that state for hours. Even later, when his perfect sense of time returned, he would be impressed at how long they lasted given how desperate they’d been for each other. But in the end, of course, his body would not be denied any longer. Molly, perhaps sensing his growing impatience, nudged Caleb’s hips up just enough to let him reach down and close a hand around the base of Caleb’s dick, stroking in time with each thrust and adding a little twist of his wrist at the end that left Caleb seeing stars.

With that extra little bit of attention on top of everything else, it didn’t take long at all before he reached the peak at last. The tension inside him _snapped_ and the world went white, there was a roaring in his ears, as he came hard and sweet and _good_ into the welcome pressure of Molly’s fist. The rush of his own climax barely had time to fade before he felt Molly shudder bodily, felt heat spilling inside him. So apparently overwhelmed with the force of his own coming, Molly bit down hard on Caleb’s shoulder to muffle a shout that even the mansion’s magic walls probably would not have suppressed otherwise. Caleb barely noticed the bloom of pain – it was a minor ache in the face of everything else, all the other sensations he was left to ride out.

Finally, the last twitches and shudderings of his release faded, leaving Caleb to collapse fully and bonelessly back onto the bed. The intense sensations were fading into a warm, golden afterglow – every muscle felt like honey and syrup, loose and relaxed. He felt Molly’s arms trembling a little with the effort of keeping himself from collapsing, too. He took a moment to mouth over the darker bruise on Caleb’s shoulder, as if in silent apology, before he slipped carefully out and rolled over to flop beside Caleb, still panting lightly, one arm thrown across his eyes. 

“Wow…” the tiefling whispered, his voice raw.

Caleb lifted his head to properly regard him. Now that the rush was fading, he found the beginnings of anxiety already gnawing at his stomach. It was stupid, even now he rationally knew it was stupid to worry. And yet, he couldn’t help but pick at the thought that things might change now. Things _had_ changed, but what if it was for the worst? For as long as he could remember, sex had been a means to an end, something to trade or make use of or _endure_. What if he’d somehow cheapened what they had by giving into this? What if Molly looked at him like he meant less, now?

Then Molly moved his arm aside and opened his eyes to see Caleb watching him. Then he smiled so warmly and Caleb saw his gaze fill with such boundless love that it took his breath away. The doubts faded from his mind again, for just a little while longer.

“Hey there,” Molly whispered, reaching out to trail the back of his hand down Caleb’s cheek, over his shoulder and along his arm, back and forth and once again apparently touching him solely for the sake of it. “Did you have fun?”

The doubts faded, though Caleb knew himself well enough to know that they would return in short order. But when they did, he would have Molly here to soothe him again. He would have Molly here to remind him that he was loved.

Caleb reached down to hold Molly’s hand and bring it to his mouth to kiss. The tears came hot and fast this time, impossible to swallow down, but this time he found that he didn’t want to. As they trailed down his cheeks, it felt as if he were being finally, truly cleansed of some dark rot that had taken root so long ago. _“Ja,”_ he whispered, because words were suddenly so very hard in that moment.

The sight of the tears visibly worried Molly; Caleb could tell as much even through his blurring vision. The tiefling half rolled over to face him properly, cradled Caleb’s cheek tenderly in one hand and brushed some tears away with his thumb. “Sweetheart, what’s the matter?”

Caleb clung to Molly’s hand tightly, holding it against his skin. “Nothing,” he whispered, and meant it wholeheartedly despite all visible evidence to the contrary. “It’s just, I mean, I—” His voice broke on a pathetic little hiccup. “That was a lot, Molly, but it was good, it was _very_ good, it’s just, after everything…it was a _lot_.” He swiped at his eyes, trying to blink his vision clear. “But I think, perhaps…perhaps I needed a lot. Perhaps we both did.”

“I think we did.” As he blinked his vision clear, Caleb saw that Molly had started to cry, too. But his smile remained, so beautiful and bright, and when he reached out to draw Caleb close and hold him, Caleb offered no resistance, simply deliriously happy to be held.

“You’d tell me though, wouldn’t you?” Molly whispered, carding his fingers through Caleb’s hair. “If it wasn’t okay?”

“I promise. Of course.” Because he knew that if he said something, Molly would _care_. If Caleb was hurting for any reason, Molly would try to fix it. Molly _loved him_ and that thought was so big, carried so many meanings, so perhaps it was okay to let himself cry while he tried to figure out how to deal with the weight of it.

Molly certainly seemed to think so. He held Caleb close and murmured words of love and soothing nonsense as Caleb slowly, slowly let himself break down in tears in the face of everything from the last five minutes to the last month to perhaps the last twenty years.

He drifted for a while, safe to lose himself with Molly’s arms around him. As the torrent of emotion started to abate, it left only peace and weariness in its wake. He pulled away at last, just enough to wipe at his eyes again, and this time the tears stayed gone.

“I love you,” he whispered to the man beside him, because there really seemed to be nothing else to say.

Molly rested his fingertips lightly against Caleb’s chin, gently guiding it up so he could lean in and kiss Caleb full on the mouth, slow and warm and sweet. There was no true heat to it, not this time, not after they’d both thoroughly worn themselves out. Caleb still pressed up into it, chasing the feeling solely for the sake of it, letting out a contented sigh that Molly swallowed down.

“I love you too,” Molly whispered when they pulled apart, and Caleb smiled.

After that, they exchanged a few murmured musings about possibly getting into the bath to clean up. It all came to nothing – they both felt too pleasantly sore, too deeply relaxed. In the end, they simply kicked top sheet off the bed and out of the way for now. There were more than enough blankets to take its place. Molly drew one up and over them both, then they settled down and curled up together for a long, peaceful sleep. The bath would still be waiting for them when they woke.

*  *  *

Jester woke late the next morning, to the sounds of her friends already bustling around throughout the mansion. Come evening it would disappear, but once it did, Caleb would teleport them all to Nicodranus for a night spent safe beneath her mother’s roof instead. For now, everyone was determined to enjoy a lazy day.

Jester would join them in enjoying it soon, but for now, she had a task to see to and a promise to keep.

She retrieved the final piece of paper from her desk amongst all her crumpled up past attempts, sat down on her bed, smoothed it out in her lap, and cleared her throat.

“Hello, Eodwulf,” she said, fairly certain she was pronouncing it right. “This is Jester. Caleb’s friend. We wanted to see if you were alive. If you are and you need help, let us know.” The spell fizzled out at twenty five words and she sat fiddling anxiously with her note as she awaited a reply. She had more to say, but if there was no one hearing her message in the first place, it seemed silly to waste the effort.

One second ticked by, then two, then three – she caught herself counting them the way Caleb sometimes did, a habit she had picked up months ago when trying to keep track of whether or not twenty minutes had passed. It was at the thirty second mark, just as she was resigning herself to giving up hope and delivering the bad news, that her patience paid off.

 _“Hello, Jester. Thank you for your concern. Astrid and I are alive.”_ There was a pause in which she could imagine someone hastily urging him to add something, the way her friends still so often did with her. The idea made her smile as Eodwulf’s voice did indeed hastily add: _“And human. We have made our way outside the city. I think—_ scheisse _\--”_ The spell cut off, and Jester giggled to herself. She was torn between waiting for a reply or speaking her own reply now. In the end, she settled on speaking next.

“Caleb will be happy you’re alive. He asked me to send these messages. He loves you. But he’ll fuck you up if you hurt us.”

_“I would expect nothing less. Please tell him thank you. But I think we have a lot to think about. We will keep to ourselves--”_

The next time any of them gave her shit over her failure to keep track of how many words the sending spell allowed, Jester was absolutely going to gloat over the fact that Caleb’s childhood friends were just as bad if not worse.

A woman’s voice spoke in her ear this time. _“We will keep to ourselves for now. But if we need help, we will call for you. If you need help, please call for us.”_

“Okay, I will and I will let him know! Thank you. And, um, good luck!” It was only a handful of words to use the spell for, but they were important words. It was important to be polite.

Neither Astrid nor Eodwulf replied this time, but that was all right. She could certainly imagine that they had a lot to think about, a lot to work through. But at least they both could face it together, in the light of a brand new day and a second chance all their own.

She had no doubt that their paths would cross again, and hopefully this time would involve a lot more hugs and a lot less blood.

With that comforting thought in mind, Jester got up from the bed and hastened downstairs to join her friends and deliver the good news.


	20. A Beautiful Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly has a dream and finds some closure. Then he enjoys a day at the beach alongside friends, family, and the man he loves.

_Two tieflings sat on a clifftop overlooking a wide, sandy beach beneath a clear blue sky. They were identical in nearly every way, in all the ways that didn’t matter. One was doing a reading for the other, shuffling a tarot deck with quick, deft fingers before starting to lay cards out on the ground._

_“Do you know what these cards mean?” Molly asked Lucien. Lucien mutely shook his head. His eyes were distant, glassy, staring. Like a child fixated on an unfamiliar toy, he reached out to try and grasp for the trailing end of the noose around Molly’s neck. Molly made an impatient noise and swatted his hand aside. “No. None of that. We’re not doing that anymore, remember?” He gestured at the eight swords sticking out of Lucien’s back like porcupine quills. “Messy business. Not worth it.”_

_Lucien drew back, looking sulky and hurt, then drew his knees up to his chest and hid his face against them. Despite himself, Molly felt some of his irritation softened by pity. He sighed, long and tired, then waved a hand so that the scattered tarot cards started to come together into a deck again. “You know what? You’re right. What does it matter what the cards say? Fuck these cards. Whatever they say, it doesn’t change the facts at hand.” He reached out to prod Lucien on the top of his head. “The fact is that this is the last time we’re seeing each other, all right? That’s the best thing for it. For both our sakes.”_

_Lucien laughed, and then he spasmed with pain and the laughter turned into wet, bloody coughing. He slumped forward onto his hands and knees, hacking up blood onto the rock, trembling so fiercely with pain that the swords in his back rattled and clattered like hellish windchimes._

_This time, Molly couldn’t ignore the pity that tugged at his heart. He moved to Lucien’s side now that the cards no longer stood between them, reached out to rub his shoulders and the back of his neck until the fit passed. It seemed to help. Despite himself, he hoped it helped._

_Once Lucien regained the ability to breathe, the first words he spoke in a weary, wrecked voice were: “I’m so tired.” He lifted his head to meet Molly’s gaze, and the look on his face was one that Molly knew so very well. “I’m so tired.”_

_“I know,” Molly whispered. His past life looked so very vulnerable and young, so much so that he was moved to lean in close and press a gentle kiss to Lucien’s forehead. “Me, too.”_

_Then he got to his feet, reached out, and took hold of one of the sword hilts. “It never should have gotten this far,” he said, as he started to wrench it free. Lucien, to his credit, at least tried not to scream. “And maybe a little of that is my doing. I don’t know. I was punished for something you did, and all of my people suffered for it, and that killed me just a little. Someone else blamed me for your grand plans, and maybe I blamed myself. While I was down there in the dark, I didn’t exactly have a chance to do anything else. So I called you back, to try and…damned if I know. Understand, I suppose?”_

_The fourth sword clattered to the ground on top of the other three. Lucien was crying, now. Molly wasn’t unsympathetic, but he also knew that the pain wouldn’t ease until this was done. This had all become such messy business, and now he needed to put a true end to it._

_He gritted his teeth and started to wrench the fifth sword free. “Well, whichever one of us started it, you didn’t exactly make things any easier. I don’t know what I did to make you hate me so much. I don’t care if you think I’m not living up to what you wanted your life to be. Because it’s not your life anymore. You had your chance, and now I deserve mine, and I refuse to let you punish me anymore.”_

_The eighth sword was the hardest to loose of all. Molly finally had to give up on the hilt and grasp the blade itself to get proper leverage. Blood dripped down it, mingling with the stains marring Lucien’s back. “Well I’m ending it, all right? This has gone too far, and I’m ending it. You’re going to go back to sleep, and I’m going to live_ my _life, and we’re both finished with each other. No more of this. No more fighting and clawing at each other. I’m going to let you rest. And I’m going to move on.”_

_As the final sword slid free with an ugly sound of gristle and meat, Molly didn’t drop it on the pile with the others. He simply turned and hurled it into the sea, where it landed with a satisfying splash so very far away._

_When he turned back around, he flinched with shock to find Lucien standing right behind him, tearstains on his cheeks and blood around his mouth. Molly was momentarily frozen with shock as Lucien reached yet again for the noose around his neck. By the time he recovered his wits enough to begin raising his hands in his own defense, he realized that Lucien wasn’t looking to try and tighten the noose again. He was simply working to try and get it up and over Molly's head without getting too impossibly caught in his jewelry, which – in his defense – was a job and a half in its own right._

_As soon as Molly realized what Lucien was doing, the last knot of tension in his chest unwound. He simply smiled and moved to help the other tiefling finish the job. In short order, the noose thudded heavily to the ground atop the pile of bloody swords, and they only dislodged two pieces of horn jewelry in the bargain. Molly picked them up, polished them on his shirt, made to replace them in their proper places – and then he thought better of it, and held them out to Lucien instead._

_The other tiefling recoiled, and Molly burst out laughing. “They’re not going to_ hurt _you, for god’s sake!” Fussily, he took Lucien’s hand in his and guided his palm open and up for the sake of dropping the trinkets into them. “A bit of sparkle’s not the worst thing in the world, is it? And besides, I know how uptight they are about you paying your own way over there. Maybe these will cover for you.”_

_This very relevant point finally seemed to prove sufficient for Lucien to see sense. He curled his fingers around the charms and nodded. Molly let out his breath in a short sigh and nodded back. “I don’t know how I know that,” he added. “Which probably means I have you to thank for it. I learned a lot from you. Some of it I wish I didn’t know, but it’s all been useful. So thank you for that, I suppose.”_

_“Don’t waste it,” said Lucien flatly. “I don’t want to see you down there until I’ve had time to move on.”_

_“Fair enough. The feeling is entirely mutual.” And yet, as they stood together on this cliffside, beneath a clear sky and a new day, facing each other for the last time, Molly found himself moved to end things on a better note. He opened his arms. “Come here.” He felt they could both do with this._

_After a long moment of visible hesitation, Lucien’s pride wore out, and he seemed to agree. He stepped forward and slowly slid his arms around Molly like he’d forgotten how, but when Molly hugged him back, careful and mindful of the bloody holes still torn all through his back, his past life slumped against him with an exhausted, whimpering sigh._

_They stayed like that for what might have been hours, as the wind whispered around them and the sun climbed higher, until Molly slowly became aware that people were calling his name. They pulled apart, then Molly shaded his eyes to stare down the cliff, towards the sound of the voices. His heart soared to see the distant figures of Caleb and Yasha waving to him, and of his other friends ranged behind them, all enjoying a well-deserved break with whatever amusements the beach had to offer._

_“I should go,” Molly said, smiling at the sight of them and waving back._

_“You should go,” Lucien agreed._

_“Can you find your own way down?”_

_“I need to go up, actually, but yeah, I can. I always do.”_

_That made sense enough to Molly. “Best of luck to you, then,” he said. Then he waved over his shoulder and started along the path down the cliff and towards his friends. He didn’t look back, not even once. Lucien had said he could make his own way away, and Molly believed him, so that meant he didn’t have to worry about him any longer._

_All he had to focus on was the fact that his family was waiting for him, and he’d kept them waiting long enough._

*  *  *

Molly’s eyes snapped open, and he came awake in an instant – not forcibly, not unpleasantly, he simply went from sleeping to conscious like a switch had been flipped.

After spending months or years frequently having to claw his way back to the waking world, it was still an unfamiliar sensation even after a few days of it, but far from an unpleasant one.

He was sprawled in his own bed in his own room within the magic mansion. The other side of the bed was mostly empty, though Caleb had left Frumpkin in his place before he’d gotten up. The cat was curled up in a tight little ball, his chin rested on his folded paws, purring fit to wake the dead. Molly smiled fondly at the sight and reached out to scratch the cat behind the ears – immediately, Frumpkin butted his head up into the touch and uncurled for a long, languid stretch.

“Mollymauk?” he heard Caleb say. Molly rolled over to see Caleb settled on the chaise, a book open in his lap that Molly’s waking had distracted him from. “Good morning. How did you sleep?”

He found himself lingering over the question for a second or two longer than he might have otherwise. Molly knew that he’d dreamed. And even if the details were already starting to go a little hazy, he knew it had been a good dream. He hadn’t just woke up feeling rested. He felt satisfied. He felt as if something deep inside him had finally, finally been set at peace.

So in the end, he smiled and nodded. “I slept very well, thank you. And how about you, dearest? I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.” It felt as if he’d slept late and long, especially since there were no sounds of chatter or bustle from outside the door. That probably meant the others had left the mansion already, heading out for another day of relaxation on the beach outside Nicodranus.

“Not long,” Caleb said, closing his book and setting it aside, standing up and stretching as Molly slowly dragged himself out of bed and started to gather up his clothes from the floor. “I am hardly going to complain about a morning spent reading. Yeza and Luke came to visit again early this morning, so I expect it will be even busier than normal out there.”

“My snoring wasn’t too terribly distracting?”

“I missed the sound of your snoring too much to ever be distracted by it.”

The time it took to pull his shirt on wasn’t nearly enough time to force down the blush that rose to his cheeks at those words, so Molly didn’t bother to try. “You are honestly too sweet for words someimes, you know that?”

Caleb chuckled, soft and happy, and the sound made Molly’s heart do a pleasant little flip in his chest. “You deserve it,” he said. “You deserve all of that and more.”

After that, there was well and truly nothing for it but to go to Caleb and kiss him. Caleb met him in the middle of the room and there they lingered for a long, blissful moment, trading kisses and sighs and slowly warming up to the idea of facing the day.

In a few more days, they would leave Nicodranus and Caleb would teleport them into Rohsona, in the heart of Xhorhas. They would go to the Bright Queen and tell her of all that had happened, warn her of what very nearly had happened, so that she could be ready in case King Dwendel found someone else to try and enact Trent Ikithon’s genocidal plan. She and her people deserved to be prepared. So the Mighty Nein would return to their gifted mansion with its towering treehouse and stay for a while to help ensure that disaster had well and truly been averted.

But between Jester’s scrying and Beau’s rumormongering they knew that Rexxentraum was still in chaos, even days later. So they’d all decided that taking a few more days to spend time with family and get as much sun as they could wasn’t going to hurt anything.

It had been a good few days of relaxing in the sun and swimming in the sea and attending performances by Jester’s mother and taking it in turns to babysit Luke. Molly looked forward happily to another such day of rest. And so he and Caleb left the room and headed down the stairs, towards the front door of the mansion.

When Caleb pushed it open, sunlight and the scent of saltwater poured in. Molly shaded his eyes until they adjusted to the brightness, until he could see Jester trying yet again to teach Luke to play fetch with Nugget. He saw Nott and Yeza sunbathing in the sand, saw Beau and Yasha going through some calisthenics together, saw Fjord getting ready to use his water powers to douse them both with a wave.

That would be quite a show to watch. Molly laughed, then looked over to Caleb, and held out a hand. “Looks like we got here just in time. Shall we?”

Caleb took his hand and squeezed it tight. “Let’s.”

Then together, they walked out into the sunlight to join their friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *takes a bow*
> 
> I never thought I'd get this fic written. I posted the final chapter of Traveling Hearts the Monday after Episode 25, glad to be contributing something fluffy to the fandom after the events that ended Episode 25. I'd already been batting around ideas and chewing over the big scenes of this fic. I'd resolved to start writing it after I watched Episode 26 and refreshed myself on everyone's voices.
> 
> And then....well.
> 
> I honestly never thought I'd write another Critical Role fic again after Episode 26. I certainly didn't see the point in starting this one for a very long time. I've traditionally been very bad at fix-it fics, at fics that just blatantly ignore canon events. I thought that if I started it, I'd just lose momentum and leave it half done and have it weighing on me forever. 
> 
> But...I don't know, man. Something about 2019 just allowed me to finally gain the ability to, with all the love and respect in the world, say "fuck canon" and set it in its own little corner to do its own thing while I do mine. I started chewing over this fic again a few months ago. I got the itch. And I gave into it.
> 
> And I'm pretty proud of the results! Hopefully they were worth the wait. I hope this was a good ride. 
> 
> The reactions of the cast probably helped a little. Taliesin mentioning that Molly is fine in his head, everyone else finding little ways to keep Molly's memory alive through dialogue and description...it did a lot to keep me from souring entirely on the show in the midst of my grief, and has resulted in Critical Role becoming the fandom I have written the most for in, uh. Ever. The improvement I have seen in myself as a writer cannot be understatated. And eventually I decided that the chance to write for a character who's touched my heart as much as Molly has isn't one I should give up on so easily. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm hickumu on twitter if you ever want to stop by and say hello. I also made a playlist for this fic, which is now completed - https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2JfLKhmtDApBjjGBBOxZEp . It's my first playlist I've ever made and I'm also pretty proud of the results.
> 
> With all of that in mind, I guess there's only one thing left to say, and that's:
> 
> *~The end~*


End file.
